


nobody teaches you to hurt like this

by hemakeshimstrongx



Category: Larry Stylinson - Fandom, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anger, Angst, Christmas fic, Clubbing, Epiphanies, Funeral, Grief, Lost Love, M/M, Rekindled Romance, Singing, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, but there's more to it than that, idk what else to tag here, it's set at christmas time, they're good for the soul, u could call it that i suppose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 07:15:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16970157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hemakeshimstrongx/pseuds/hemakeshimstrongx
Summary: louis tomlinson loses his mother. it ruins him, it ruins his family, it ruins the holiday season.through friends, old romance, snowfall, and the season of giving, louis learns that sometimes even the toughest tragedies can have a little silver lining.





	nobody teaches you to hurt like this

**Author's Note:**

> hello! happy holidays! this is a christmas fic a little early, a fic posted a little closer to the anniversary of jay's passing because, largely, that's what this fic is about. i've been meaning to write something like this for a long time now, and it finally came out. 
> 
> this is for jay, now more than ever. 
> 
> title from james bay's "slide"

_she takes a breath, weight comes off her chest_  
she finds a way to weather through the storm  
she cried out home, i need me some home.   
**home, johnnyswim**

 

 ****Louis loves coming home for the holidays. He always loved Christmas, so did his sisters. Ever since getting out of uni, he tried to take off of work at least a week before Christmas Eve so he could go home and spend it with his family. They would decorate the tree together and listen to music and Louis would get to spend all that time in his childhood bedroom, sleeping better than he sleeps in his flat in London.

This year, Louis is home almost two weeks before Christmas. Because his mother died.

Jay, the undefeatable, strong, charismatic mother Louis has had for the past twenty four years of his life, has passed away. It wasn’t necessarily a shock; was more of the opposite, actually. It wasn’t sudden and it wasn’t a blindside. The diagnosis was, sure. But it was a lot of painful months and no one was surprised when the end came. It hurt like hell, still hurts like hell, but Louis wasn’t caught off-guard when the end came.

So, Louis’ mother died. And he’s home two weeks early for her funeral and to celebrate a holiday he used to love, but isn’t quite sure he’ll ever love again.

“Your mum wanted you to deliver the eulogy. Think you can deliver?” Dan asks, passing Louis a beer.

“Are you telling me this the night before the funeral so I have no way of backing out and have no choice but to conjure up a speech?” Louis snaps back, cracking his beer open and tossing the bottle cap on the table.

“I mean, it _was_ in the will.”

“You’re mad if you think I’ve processed or retained any information in the past week.” Louis replies. He downs a couple big gulps of his beer before setting it down on the counter. “Have the girls talked to you at all?”

“Not really. Maybe you could have a go of it? You’re their brother and you’re the only one who’s gonna feel this like they are,” Dan says sadly. “I can handle Ernie and Doris. _You_ can handle the older girls.”

“Ah, yes, their hormones and grief are no match for my mental stability nor my ego.”

That coaxes a soft laugh out of Dan, at least. Louis picks up his beer again and stands up. “I’ll go talk to the girls, make sure they’re alright.”

“Alright. But, Louis?” Dan asks, making Louis stop on his way out the door. Louis looks at him questioningly. “Make sure you’re alright, too.”

Louis hits his fist against the doorframe a few times, nodding. “Yeah, I’ll— I’ll try.”

He heads upstairs and finds all four of his sisters in Lottie’s room. Lottie and Daisy are sitting with their backs against the headboard, Phoebe and Fizzy sitting at the other end. He knocks softly on the half-open door before stepping fully into the bedroom.

“I hate to interrupt the girl time, but can you make room for your brother in here?” he asks, shutting the door behind him.

“Did he bring a beer for his favorite sister?” Lottie croons.

“No, because his mother would kill him for providing her with alcohol,” Louis sings back. “Budge over, let me in.”

Phoebe shifts to let Louis sit down on the bed, too. “I need to write a eulogy before ten o’clock tomorrow morning. Anyone got any ideas?” Louis asks, resting his arms on his knees and looking between his sisters expectantly.

They’re all silent, avoiding his gaze. “I really need my lovely sisters to talk to me right now,” Louis pleads. “Please, talk to me.”

Daisy looks up at him. “What are you expecting us to say?”

“I don’t know. Anything.”

“I thought you didn’t like sharing feelings,” Fizzy remarks, sounding a just a little bit bitter — which Louis doesn’t blame her for.

Louis lets out a laugh and takes a sip of his beer. “I’m don’t. We’re a feelings-sharing family, though. And I know… I know mum would want us to share our feelings right now.”

Lottie sighs, resting her head against the wooden headboard. “I can’t help you write the eulogy. Mum wanted it from you, so that’s who it has to come from. Not any of us. You edit other people’s shit all the time, you know what looks and sounds good. You still write songs, too, so you know what sounds good. Mum wanted you for a reason.”

“I don’t edit other people’s shit all the time, Lottie. I work for Burberry as an _advertiser_ , which is rather far from editing other people’s shit.”

“Ugh, whatever. Just write something, okay?”

“Lottie.” Louis says softly. “You can’t just shut down, love.”

“And you can’t just keep drinking beers and whining about your eulogy.” she snaps. “Leave, please, Louis.”

Louis feels his heart drop even further in his chest. It feels like it’s going to fall through his entire body, tear through his organs and even if it did, the pain of that probably wouldn’t compare to the pain he’s feeling right now. “Okay, I’ll leave. I’ll, um, be downstairs if any of you want to talk?”

None of the girls say anything, and Louis leaves without saying another word. He finishes his beer on the way down the stairs and grabs another immediately upon getting into the kitchen. He blows through four more after that, before Dan’s even come back from putting the little twins to sleep.

“They go down okay?” Louis asks, now nursing his fifth beer.

“Yeah. Not quite sure they understand what’s going on and I don’t really know how to explain it to them,” he replies, rubbing his face. “I’m gonna head off to bed, if that’s alright with you.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m good here, you should rest. Me, on the other hand, I’ve got a eulogy to write.” Louis says. He reaches for the notepad and pen at the end of the countertop and pulls it in front of him.

Louis stares at a blank page for a long time. It takes him downing the beer before he finally starts to write. Around eleven, the doorbell rings, which confuses the absolute fuck out of Louis. When he opens the door, Zayn is standing there, one of the last people Louis was expecting to see at this hour.

“What’re you doing here?” Louis asks bluntly.

“Checking in. Are you drunk?”

Louis shrugs. “Almost. Trying to write a eulogy for my mother.”

“Can I— can I come in? Is there anyone else here?”

Louis nods, opening the door further and letting Zayn comes in. He shuts and locks the door once they’re in the foyer before leading Zayn to the kitchen. “This is what… seven beers?”

“Six, actually. I’m going for eight.” Louis says, sitting down again. “Can you read this over? Tell me how it’s looking?”

Louis spins the notepad to face Zayn, who begins reading intently, nodding every so often. “Sounds like you’re drunk and talking about your mum, bro. But it’s good. Great, even.”

“Okay, great. I’ll take great. Do you want a beer?”

“Sure, but only if you talk.” Zayn offers up an ultimatum, which doesn’t surprise Louis one bit.

Louis nods. He gets up and grabs two more beers from the fridge, tossing the now empty box towards the recycling bin but missing gloriously. “So, how are you doing?” Zayn asks, hopping up on the counter across from Louis.

“Kind of shit, mate, if I’m being honest.” Louis answers, rubbing his eyes before pushing the notebook away. “I miss her. A lot. And even though we had time to— time to prepare.”

“Yeah, there’s never enough time, Lou. But you guys are all strong, you’re going to get through it. It’s what Jay would want. You don’t have a choice but to be strong.”

“I’m going to turn twenty-five and she’s not going to be here. The little twins are going to grow up without her here. Who’s to say they’ll even _remember_ her when they’re older? The girls are never gonna be able to have their mum at their weddings.” Louis sighs, shaking his head. “It’s all so fuckin’ cruel, Z. And I’m trying to be strong, I am. I know the girls need me.”

“You’re right, they do.” Zayn nods. “Strong is your only choice, but… you can’t neglect yourself, yeah?”

Louis nods. “Yeah, yeah. Everyone’s saying that, I know. And I’m trying. But I really need to make sure they’re okay, that’s my top priority.”

“I know it is, Lou.”

Louis sniffs, trying to hold back his tears despite knowing that crying is probably inevitable at this point. Zayn’s here and he has a way of knocking down all of Louis’ emotional walls. Louis’ going to cry to him. “I’m sorry,” Louis apologizes, wiping away a tear. “I don’t want to fucking cry.”

“You’re allowed to cry, babe. It’s okay,” Zayn says, hopping off the counter and coming to sit on the stool next to him.

“Maybe if I get it out now I won’t cry tomorrow,” Louis laughs wetly.

Zayn puts a hand on his back, rubbing comfortingly. “Yeah, sure, Lou. Try that out.”

“It’ll work. I’ll cry everything out tonight and I won’t do it tomorrow. And I’m really only crying because I’m a little bit drunk, that’s all.” Louis justifies. “God, _fuck,_ I hate this.”

“Stop talking and just cry, Tomlinson. Be a fucking man.”

“My sisters don’t wanna talk to me,” Louis chokes out. “We just lost our mum and we need each other but they won’t talk to me about it.”

Zayn just hums, keeps rubbing Louis’ back soothingly and lets him cry it out. Louis sobers up after some time, sitting up straight and wiping his tear-stained cheeks. “That was fucking awful.” he mutters.

“Yeah, it was. Want me to spend the night, Lou? Seems like you could use a cuddle.”

Louis nods, swallowing the lump that’s still making a home in his throat. “Yeah, please. Don’t think I wanna be alone.”

Zayn and Louis both get into Louis’ small bed, blankets pulled up and Louis with his head on Zayn’s chest. “You’ve always been here for me.” Louis says quietly. “Even when you hated me or I hated you, you were always there. My mum fucking adored you, too. We’ve been through everything together.”

“Yeah, we have. First blowjobs, yeah?” Zayn says amusedly, his laughter jostling Louis’ head.

“ _God,_ you said we’d never talk about that again! We were, like, sixteen and we were stoned out of our _minds.”_ Louis exclaims. “You said we’d never bring it up again!”

“Sorry, mate, I had to.” Zayn says, still laughing a bit. “Had to make you laugh somehow.”

Louis sighs. “It worked. But please never bring it up again.”

“Fine, fine. But you’re right, we have been with each other through everything, haven’t we?”

“Yeah, we have. Thank you. And I love you, I never really tell you that.”

“Yeah, because you’re a locked box of hidden emotion—”

“Oi! Like you’re any better!”

“—but I love you too, Louis. And I’m here for you, no matter how ugly this gets.” Zayn says. “Now go the fuck to sleep.”

 

Louis does try to go to sleep, and it comes, but only for a little while. He’s drunk, at least a little bit, it should be easy for him to fall asleep; but it doesn’t stick. He ends up getting out of bed around five thirty, careful so as not to disturb Zayn. He showers and gets changed before heading downstairs.

Louis does the dishes that are in the sink and disposes properly of all evidence of his grief-fuelled binge drinking session and starts a pot of coffee for when everyone else wakes up. When all that is done, Louis grabs the notepad and reads over what he wrote. He makes a few minor edits (write drunk, edit sober, someone famous Louis can’t be bothered to remember said that once) before tearing the page off and folding it up to stick in his back pocket.

Lottie comes into the kitchen first, shocked to see Louis there dressed and ready despite the early hour. “You’re ready to go?”

Louis shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“I stopped by your room. Zayn’s here?”

Louis nods. “Yeah, he came by late last night.”

“Did you guys, you know…” Lottie trails off, eyes flitting up to Louis while she pours herself a cup of coffee.

He scoffs, shaking his head. “No. We don’t… we don’t do that anymore.”

“Did you write the eulogy?”

“Yeah. I think it’s pretty good.”

“Hey, no spoilers.”

 

 _how unfair, it's just our luck_  
_found something real that's out of touch._  
_but if you'd searched the whole wide world,_  
_would you dare to let it go?  
_ **not about angels, birdy**

 

 

Louis clears his throat, pulling the mic closer to himself just an inch. “Thank you all for coming. This is a massive, massive show of love and family, and my mum would love that. Every single person here touched my mother, and was impacted by her, in some way. And we all feel her loss. But the fact that everyone came out today to show their support and their love means the world to my family, and I know it means the world to her. Jay was… the most giving person I know. I learned from her, I became the person I am today because of how she was and how she raised me. She was a nurse, she loved caring for other people. She was a wife, she loved being loved and giving love in return. But of all the things my mum was, I think she loved _being_ a mother most of all. Seven beautiful children graced her presence and each one of us seems to be the spitting image of her. Our mum taught us to be the best versions of ourselves, carved each of us by hand to be our own person but poured a little bit of herself into all of us. My mum…” Louis trails off, his eyes getting lost in the words he drunkenly wrote last night.

He clears his throat again, looking up at the audience of loving, crying, grieving people before him. “I’m sorry. I, uh, I wrote this last night and, full disclosure, I had a bit of liquid help and right now I’m realizing that it might not be the right thing to say. Look, my mum was strong and she was independent and she loved more fiercely than anyone I know. Every single person she met, she always had some wisdom to impart on them and now that she’s gone, I know it kind of feels like we’re in the dark. Right now it feels like someone’s plunged a knife into my gut and is twisting it every single second she’s not here, I know it feels like that for a lot of you. If Jay were still here, she’d do whatever she could to make that pain stop, even if it meant hurting herself. But I have to believe that this pain will pass. My mum always used to tell us, whenever and however we got hurt – a scrape or a bad grade or heartbreak – that eventually something would come along and take that pain away. I need to believe that now more than ever. She would love seeing all of us here, but she would not want us hurting for long. Jay would want us to celebrate her life, and to celebrate our own, so I ask all of you to join me in doing so. Um, yeah. That’s about it, I guess. Thank you again for coming, like I said it means the world to us and to her. Thank you.”

Louis makes his way back to his seat, sandwiched between Zayn and Niall. “Told you crying last night would help,” Louis says under his breath, even though he can still feel that lump in his throat and that ache in his heart.

Zayn snorts, squeezing Louis’ thigh. “You did good, Lou. She’d be proud.”

Niall nods in agreement. “She would.”

Louis takes a shaky breath, sparing a glance at Lottie, who smiles at him with tears in her eyes. “I hope she is,” he says softly. “I really, really hope she is.”

 

They have a sort of after-party at the Tomlinson-Deakin house after the funeral. A celebration of life and whatnot. Louis’ four beers and two wines in when he physically bumps into someone in the kitchen.

It takes a moment for his grief-stricken, tipsy mind to figure out who it is. “Harry?”

Harry smiles sadly. “Hi, Lou. How’re you doing? I tried to catch you at the service but you were all caught up in Zayn and your family.”

“I’m–I’m fine. I didn’t even know you were here. How are you– _why_ are you here? I haven’t seen you since–“

“Before uni, I know. Liam called me, said we should all be here. I do wish we were together again under different circumstances. I adored your mum. I’m really, really sorry.”

“I’m, um. She loved you, too. Shit, you look…” Louis trails off, not knowing how to finish that sentence without sounding like a dick.

“Well, it’s been, like, six years. The last time we saw each other I was practically a child.” Harry answers simply.

“You look… good, Harry.”

“Are you drunk?”

Everyone’s asking that fucking question. Louis hates it, but they haven’t been too far off-base. “Uh, not yet. I am glad you’re here, though. It’s good to see you again.”

“Yeah, you too. Still wish the circumstances were different but–“

“It is what it is,” they say in unison, dissolving into awkward laughter immediately after.

“You wrote your eulogy drunk, huh?” Harry asks after the bubble of laughter has popped.

“Yeah, I did. I’m a bit embarrassed of it, to be honest.”

“Well, when you improvised you did good. You… said what everyone needed to hear, and I think that’s good.”

“Okay, great. I’m glad I didn’t sound like a complete idiot.” Louis admits. “God, I can’t believe this is you, that you’re here.”

Harry hums. “Better believe it, Tomlinson. I’m going to go find the guys, got a lot to catch up on. You, um… you should come find us later, maybe we’ll take you out to drinks or something.”

“I’m going to hold you to that, Styles.” Louis says.

Harry smiles at him one last time before he leaves the kitchen, and Louis retreats to the powder room. He didn’t even _think_ that Harry would be here. He’s seen Niall and Liam and Zayn throughout the years, but never once saw Harry. He didn’t even know the guys still talked to him, let alone that they still talked enough to have Harry come to the funeral. Louis hadn’t even seen him during the service — not like he would’ve recognized him anyway.

He looks different, older, and he’s certainly shot up a lot in height. The mop of curly hair that always sat fluffy and close to his head has been grown out, longer and almost down to his shoulders, and he definitely doesn’t look like the geeky kid Louis left behind when he went to uni. He’s definitely not the same kid that was shy and lacking all confidence in himself and almost unable to look Louis in the eye without dissolving into a mess of blush and stutter.

Louis can’t fucking believe he’s here.

After composing himself, Louis flushes the toilet for show and takes his beer into the living room where everyone is talking and drinking and laughing. Louis sits down next to Zayn, who makes room for him without hesitation. With a sigh, Louis rests his head on Zayn’s shoulder.

“Drunk yet?”

Louis shakes his head. “Why’s everyone so concerned about my level of intoxication?”

“Because we don’t want you to become a depressed alcoholic. Drinks tonight?” Zayn asks, squeezing Louis’ thigh.

“Thought you guys don’t want me to become an alcoholic.” Louis says, his eyes following Doris as she makes her way across the room. “But yes, drinks tonight. As soon as we can get out of here, I need to.”

“Of course, Lou. And don’t worry, we’ll make sure you don’t become a depressed alcoholic.” Zayn assures. Doris comes to stand at Louis’ feet, a smile on her face despite everything that’s going on.

“Can you sing us a song?” she asks, looking between Zayn and Louis expectantly. _“Pleeeeaaaseee?”_

“Ugh, Dory,” Louis groans, pressing his face into Zayn’s shoulder. “Why do you want us to sing a song?”

Doris whines, putting both her hands on Louis’ knees. “Because mummy would like it.”

Louis sighs, looking up at Zayn expectantly. “Shall we sing a song?”

“Give Niall a guitar and we’ll have music,” Zayn shrugs.

Louis leans forward to talk to her softly, like they’re conspiring. “Okay, Dory. We’ll sing a song but _only_ if you convince Niall and Liam _and_ Harry to sing, too. Go find them and make sure Niall gets the guitar, okay?”

Doris laughs gleefully, nodding and running off immediately. “Ah, so you saw Harry, huh?” Zayn asks as Louis settles back into the couch.

“Yeah. I had no idea he was here. But he looks… he looks good.”

“He does.” Zayn confirms, nodding. “When Li told him what happened, Harry dropped everything and said he’d be here. For you and for your family, as long as the rest of us will be here.”

“So I’m never getting rid of any of you, is what I’m hearing?” Louis asks.

“Nope, never.”

Not ten minutes later, Doris comes into the room with Liam, Niall, and Harry in tow, each one looking more confused than the last. They all sit on the same couch, a little too close but not complaining, and wait for one of Louis’ sisters to spit out a song request.

 _“ Landslide.”_ Fizzy says decidedly. “If, of course, Niall has chords for it.”

“Of course Niall has chords for Fleetwood Mac.” Niall scoffs, bending down over the guitar and strumming.

This is practiced for them, singing together. They’d do it all the time before everyone split up to go to their respective universities; just have random singalongs and jam sessions because alone they sound alright, but together it’s something completely different. Zayn and Louis, who have been friends for longer than any of the other boys, would put on concerts in Louis’ living room for his sisters and his mum. This very living room, Louis’ realizing.

The words are leaving his mouth, he knows it, but Louis’ not present. He’s zoned out, disappeared into a time and a place where his mother is still here and he’s performing for her. It’s been five days and Louis feels like he’s still holding his breath, waiting for Jay to walk into her own wake, her own funeral, her own memorial celebration, and comfort everyone with just a single look.

Louis kind of drops off towards the end of the song, still singing but not really with any force or heart to it. The people in the room clap at the end of the song, and Liam claps Louis on the shoulder and says something Louis can’t quite make out. His ears are ringing quite a bit. With a forced smile, Louis stands up and leaves the room, straight out the front door and into the fresh air.

He digs his smokes from his pocket, lighting one with cold, shaking hands and exhaling heavily. The sound of the door opening and shutting behind him makes Louis turn around to face whoever it is that’s joined him outside.

“Oh.” he says, kind of surprised to see Harry standing there instead of Zayn. “I thought you’d be Zayn coming to check up on me and bum a smoke.”

“You’re still really close with him, huh?” Harry asks. Louis cocks his head curiously. “I just mean— I’ve seen you guys all day today, you’re really close. Like, dating close, it seems.”

“Yeah, we are.” Louis nods. “But we’re not, you know. Dating or whatever.”

“You don’t have to explain.” Harry says. Louis just nods his head again, pulling deep on the cigarette between his fingers and holding it while Harry studies him carefully. “I guess the five of us still have it, huh? The singing?”

Louis laughs softly. “I guess we kind of do.”

“Doris is very young but she’s very convincing. She wasn’t going to leave me alone until I agreed to do a song,” Harry laughs, folding his arms across his chest in a half-hearted attempt at conserving body heat.

“Yeah, I know she is. Just like her mum,” Louis murmurs, flicking his cigarette.

“I didn’t know you smoked.” Harry says, nodding toward the cigarette in Louis’ hand. “Pot, I knew you could handle. But cigarettes?”

He’s making a face now, which makes Louis chuckle. “I dunno. Picked it up as a habit when I was just out partying and drinking. Now it’s become a bit of a stress thing.”

“A smoker and an an alcoholic? We have our work cut out for us, don’t we?” Harry muses.

 _“We?_ What do you mean _we?”_

“The guys and I. Making sure you’re okay, you know? Getting you through this.” Harry shrugs.

Louis takes one last, long draw on his cigarette before dropping it to the ground and stomping the butt of it out. “I appreciate that, but I think you all know that I hate being hovered over.”

“Yeah, I do know. Are you ready to come back inside? It’s cold as fuck out here.” Harry says. He’s starting to visibly shake and although Louis could really go for another hit of nicotine, he has a feeling Harry’s going to hang around until he’s done and Louis doesn’t want to force him out here any longer.

Louis nods. Without hesitating, Harry turns around and opens the door, holding it open for Louis. They head back into the living room, where Louis spends the remainder of the day.

People start to filter out as the day continues on. Lottie gets drunk off wine and tries to hide it, but Louis sees the way she’s leaning a bit on Fizzy and laughing more than she normally would in a situation like this. Dan puts the little twins to bed after the only people left are the Tomlinsons and the guys.

“Do you mind if we steal him?” Zayn asks, already grabbing Louis by the hand.

Lottie shrugs, her head resting on Daisy’s shoulder. “Take him, take him. Get him away from all this… _sadness,”_ she murmurs.

“Lottie gets grim when she’s drunk,” Louis says softly.

“Yeah, so do you, mate. Must run in the family or summat,” Niall says. “Alright, let’s go.”

Niall puts a finger to his nose, and Louis quickly does the same. Harry is the last one standing without a finger on his nose. “Oh, _shit_ ,” he mutters, shaking his head. “I’m DD. Everyone get in my car.”

“I get shotgun,” Louis says quickly, raising his hand.

“What?” Niall exclaims. “You can’t call it yet, you can’t even see the car—”

“Louis gets shotgun.” Harry defends.

Louis sticks his tongue out at Niall, beginning to walk towards the door with Zayn’s hand still clasped in his own. “Louis is grieving and he gets shotgun privileges for the night.”

“Oh, my god.” Liam grumbles, rolling his eyes.

The five of them walk down the driveway to Harry’s car in relative silence. Louis tries to find the radio station that’s playing the best songs but comes up empty, ends up demanding someone’s phone to plug into the auxiliary cord.

At the club, it doesn’t take long for Louis to get drunk. A few rounds of shots and a few beers later, he’s certifiably drunk and groaning about the people who are doing karaoke.

“You need a dance,” Zayn demands, poking Louis’ nose. “C’mon, bub. Let’s go dance it out.”

“Pulled that line right from _Grey’s Anatomy,_ didn’t you?” Louis grumbles, letting Zayn tug him up and towards the dance floor.

“Oh, just shut up,” Zayn rolls his eyes and puts his arms around Louis’ shoulders, pulling them close together.

“Everyone’s asking me if we’re together.” Louis says absently. “They— they think we’re fucking again.”

“That bothers you?” Zayn asks, and Louis shakes his head quickly. “God, I don’t even remember the last time we hooked up. Only when we’re drunk, yeah?”

Louis nods this time, then rests his cheek on Zayn’s shoulder. Zayn combs his fingers through Louis’ hair, still swaying them to the beat of the song. “By now, usually you’d be grinding against me or some other bloke.” Zayn notes, needing to yell a bit louder over the music now. “You really are sad, huh?”

Louis manages to laugh, picking his head up again. “Nobody wants to grind with the boy whose mum just died, the boy who will probably end up crying before the night is over.”

“I do,” Zayn says, his thumb brushing Louis’ cheekbone. “Only when we’re drunk, yeah?”

“Only when we’re drunk,” Louis confirms. “Turn around, I need a pretty boy in my lap.”

Zayn throws his head back and laughs, then he turns around and plants his arse against Louis’ hips. They dance for quite a while, until Louis catches Harry’s eye across the club and something about that makes Louis stop cold.

Zayn turns around to look at him with a frown. “Why’re you all weird now? Need another drink?”

Louis swallows, hard. “No. It’s, uh. Harry,” he nods towards Harry, who’s stopped looking at him now. “He was one of the people who thought— thought we’re together.”

“Lou, I thought it didn’t bother you?”

“It doesn’t!” Louis exclaims. “Just when it’s… him.”

Zayn sighs. “We’re getting you another drink. Let’s go.”

Zayn buys Louis another drink at the bar and watches as he downs it before they even walk back to the table. They all sit and chat, drinking their beers and groaning collectively when another awful karaoke goer gets up for a round of tunes.

Before Louis knows it, the only person he’s left talking to is Harry. “—And it was just— it was a mess, without a doubt. It was a shitshow. We had to call… call my mum to come pick us up.” Louis finishes his story, which Harry has been laughing at throughout.

“So. You and Zayn got drunk at a bar you snuck into, and ended up having to call your mother to pick you up?”

“Yup. That’s it.” Louis laughs, taking another sip of beer. “Ugh, fuck, I’m drunk. M’mum would be so disappointed in me.”

“She picked you up, drunk from a bar you weren’t supposed to be in and she was hardly even mad. I think she’d condone this.” Harry admits, drumming his fingers on the table. His eyes fall on the dance floor, his expression looking amused. “I think your dance partner found another one.”

Louis looks over, finding Zayn dancing with a pretty brunette girl. Louis looks back at Harry with an unamused look. “Zayn and I aren’t anything.”

“So you’ve said. But the way you were dancing before suggested otherwise. You guys still hook up sometimes, don’t you?”

“It hasn’t happened in a long time. And it mostly happens when we’re drunk. And it never means anything more than… hooking up when we’re lonely and drunk and desperate.” Louis rambles, finishing with a shrug of his shoulders and a sip of his beer.

“Right. Of course.” Harry nods. “So, just to be clear, if you two are all over each other when I’m driving later, am I supposed to put a stop to it or am I just supposed to… let it happen?”

Louis ponders for a second, humming. “I dunno. Use your absolute _best_ judgement, Harry Styles.”

“Yo!” someone hollers from the dance floor. Harry and Louis both look over to see Liam standing there, Niall attached to his hip, both beckoning them over. “Come dance, you party poopers!”

Louis rolls his eyes and gets up anyway, sparing a glance at Harry before they’re both on their way to the dance floor. “I betcha I’m a better dancer than Zayn,” Harry says, looping an arm around Louis’ waist and pulling him closer.

“Oh? Really?” Louis singsongs, smiling. “Let’s see about that then, Styles.”

 

They dance until it hits one in the morning and Harry says he refuses to drive home any later than that. Zayn and Louis, of course, cling to each other on the way out of the club, while Niall sings Christmas songs joyously at the top of his lungs and Harry unlocks the car.

“Stay at mine?” Zayn asks, pinching Louis’ arse while Louis opens the passenger side door.

Louis turns around to face him, leaning against the still-closed back door. “Needa be there for my sisters,” he replies, reaching up and squeezing Zayn’s cheeks playfully. “We shouldn’t break the streak, though.”

“What streak?” Zayn slurs, already leaning in closer, his lips brushing Louis’.

“Our not-hooking-up streak.”

“Lou?” Harry calls from inside the car. “Are you coming or should I just leave the two of you to make out on the side of the road?”

“We’re coming.” Louis answers, getting into the front seat before Zayn can grab him again.

Harry drops Liam and Niall at their hotel, both of them assuring him that they’ll get to their rooms just fine. “Zayn’ll just come home with me,” Louis says, looking over his shoulder at Zayn in the back seat.

“Lou, it’s fine—”

“You’re drunk and we should be together. Taking care of drunk people makes me feel more sober,” Louis explains, resting his head against the car window.

Harry pulls to a stop outside of Louis’ house — Louis’ mother’s house — and shuts the car off. “Do you need me to walk you guys to the door?” he asks, looking at Louis carefully.

“Nah. We’ll be fine. Feelin’ more sober already,” Louis replies. “We’ll be fine.”

“Listen— is it alright if I, you know, stop by every so often? Just to check on you and the girls, get you or any of them out of the house if you need.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure. If that’ll make you feel better.” Louis says absently. He opens the door and stumbles out, waiting for Zayn to do the same before professing his thanks to Harry and trekking up the driveway.

They both collapse into Louis’ bed, still in their clothes and still pretty drunk. “Harry being here is fucking you up, isn’t it?” Zayn asks, rolling over to face him.

“No.” Louis lies through his teeth, pressing his face into the pillow so Zayn can’t read it all over his face.

“You’re full of it. If this were any other night where we were drunk at the club, you would’ve agreed to come home with me and we would’ve been well on our way to fucking. You don’t give a shit about a _streak.”_ Zayn laughs softly. “But Harry’s here, and you told him we don’t fuck around anymore.”

“I didn’t tell him that, exactly. I told him it happens when we’re drunk but that, one, it hasn’t happened recently and, two, it doesn’t mean anything. I was honest with him.”

“He asks about you sometimes, you know.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that you still talked to him?” Louis asks, opening his eyes to look at him, but Zayn’s eyes are closed.

“Because, I dunno. S’weird. How you two left things when you went to school. You just… cut him out, Lou.”

“Ugh, I don’t wanna talk about it. Any of it.” Louis groans. “Just wanna go to sleep.”

 

They go out again the next night. Louis’ hangover has barely worn off, but that doesn’t stop him from drinking again. Things start to go poorly around one, when Louis’ certifiably drunk and so is everyone else (except Liam, the designated driver for the night). He spots Harry across the club, leaning against the bar and talking to another guy. The guy has his hand on Harry’s waist, leaning into him.

Louis stares at him, willing Harry to turn around. When he finally does turn his head towards Louis, he catches Louis’ eye, and Louis tilts his head questioningly. Harry tilts his own head in the direction of the guy next to him, rolling his eyes and sticking his tongue out to the side.

Louis takes that as his cue to approach, not for anything other than getting the guy away from Harry. “Hi, babe,” he says, loud enough that the guy will hear him. “Need another drink?”

“No, I’ve got him covered, thanks, though.” the man on Harry’s other side answers, leaning over to look at Louis.

“I don’t exactly think you understand the situation here.” Louis fires back. “I said babe, I’m coming over to buy my boy another drink. I’ve got it handled.”

“Louis.” Harry says lowly, warningly. “It’s alright.”

“No it isn’t. If you want him to fuck off, I’ll tell him to fuck off,” Louis says. He studies Harry’s face closely, looking to see if Harry _really_ wants him to back off, but not picking up on any of that.

“If you’ve got a fucking problem you should say it to _me_ instead of your _boy toy,”_ Bar Guy says, finally taking his hands off Harry and stepping away from the bar, closer to Louis.

“I was talking to him, not you.” Louis says.

There would be no cause for further issue if the guy doesn’t step forward and put his hands on Louis’ chest, shoving him backwards. There’s no hesitation from Louis before his fist is colliding with Bar Guy’s face.

“Oh, you fucking _dick,”_ the guy mutters, pressing his fingers to his lip. It cripples Louis just a bit when he’s hit with two good punches, but he only fights back harder.

“Louis, back the fuck off,” Harry says, grabbing Louis by the arm before he gets the chance to throw another punch. “That’s _enough,_ Louis.”

Harry drags him by the arm, straight outside of the club. When they get out there, Louis has to blink a few times to adjust to the bright streetlights and when his vision finally focuses, he’s looking at Harry and Zayn, and Liam’s on his way out the door.

“Sit down,” Harry demands. He stumbles a bit in his footing before he shoves Louis’ shoulder and makes him sit down on the curb. “I’m too fucking drunk to be dealing with this right now. You’re going to get all of us banned from this fucking club, you know?”

Louis stares up at him, pressing his fingertips to his lip. “I’m fine, Harold. You’re overreacting.”

“I am _not_ overreacting, Louis. You just got in a physical fight, completely shitfaced, with a guy that wasn’t even really _doing_ anything.”

“If you tell me he wasn’t annoying the hell out of you, I’ll go in there and apologize to him right now.” Louis says, still looking up at him.

Harry sighs, rolling his eyes. “Lemme look at him, Haz. You and Zayn are both too drunk to deal with this properly,” Liam says. “Sit down, both of you.”

“Feels like we’re being punished, too.” Zayn grumbles, dropping down on the curb. “Thanks a lot, Tommo.”

“It’s _not_ my fault! He put his hands on me first!” Louis exclaims.

Liam prods his mouth and Louis groans, shoving his hand away. “Stop poking me. I’m fine. Gonna get a bruise on my cheekbone and my lip is going to be swollen for a day or two. Not my first fistfight, certainly not my last,” Louis says.

“No, but it’s your first fistfight after losing your mum. And you know _she_ would kick your ass for this.” Liam sighs, sitting back on his heels. “Lets go, we’re going to stop at a corner store and get you ice and then I’m bringing you home.”

Louis groans, pushing himself to his feet. Liam disappears to find Niall, coming out five minutes later with Niall hot on his heels. They all walk down the street to the car, not joking or singing like they were last night. “I know you have a lecture for me,” Louis says, bumping Harry’s shoulder with his own.

“I don’t have anything to say to you. I just think you’re ridiculous.” Harry replies, dropping his arms to his sides and wringing out his hands like he’s trying to get feeling in them.

“You think I’m ridiculous but do you think I’m wrong?” Louis asks. “Because if you do think I’m wrong, I’ll apologize for crossing a line. But I was just looking out for you, H. You make those eyes at me from across the club and I come over and try to get the guy to back off, and he puts his hands on me. You know I’m not going to stand there and take that.”

Harry sighs frustratedly, running a hand through his hair. “No, I guess you’re not _wrong._ But that doesn’t mean I agree with it. Or condone it.”

“You know your mum would kill you for this, right?” Zayn asks, turning around to look at Louis. He stumbles just slightly, then promptly faces forward again. “You’d walk into her house all bloodied up and bruised and she’d beat you up herself.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. She’d hate me.” Louis drones, looking down at his knuckles. “Think I really need to ice my hand.”

Liam unlocks his car using the key fob and gets into the driver’s seat without waiting for everyone else. They all pile in, in their various states of intoxication, and Zayn — who’s riding shotgun — turns the radio on almost immediately. Liam drives up the street to the twenty-four hour store and runs in, leaving behind strict instructions to not go anywhere.

They don’t speak, don’t even singalong to the radio. Louis sighs heavily, sitting up as straight as he can in the confines of the crowded backseat. “I’m sorry for ruining the night, lads,” he says, reaching and squeezing Zayn’s shoulder. “I don’t _fully_ know what got into me, but… I’m sorry that it ruined the night, but I’m not sorry that I _did it_ , if that makes any sense. Or maybe it just makes me sound like a dick, I dunno.”

“I probably would’ve done the same thing.” Zayn admits, putting a hand over Louis’. “Do you want me to come home with you?”

Louis shakes his head. He retracts his hand from Zayn’s. “No, it’s fine.”

Liam comes out of the corner store before anyone says something in reply to Louis’ apology (which was kind of shitty, he admits). “Here, fucker.” Liam says, tossing an ice pack at Louis. “Had to persuade the guy that I really needed this so he’d give it to me. I paid for it, so you’d better put it to good use.”

As soon as Niall’s out of the car, Harry slides further over in the seat, away from Louis. He’s pressing the ice to his knuckles periodically, starting to shy away from the coldness every so often but truly trying his best to keep the ice on himself. “Let me come in and fix up your face?” Harry asks softly, looking over at Louis.

Louis shrugs. “If you want to.”

“Is it alright if I crash? Or at least wait long enough to be sober enough to drive?”

“Whatever.”

Liam drops Louis and Harry both at Louis’ house, and say anything about it aside from sending Louis a warning glance, which Louis brushes off immediately. Harry flips on the kitchen light and takes the first aid kit from under the sink, where it’s been since they met. Louis pushes himself up on the counter without waiting for the instruction to do so.

“You’re not sober enough to drive but you’re sober enough to fix up my face?” Louis asks.

Harry flips open the first aid kit on the counter beside Louis. “Yes. But stop worrying about my sobriety.”

“I’m not going to _not_ worry about your sobriety when you’re sleeping at my house and fixing my battle wounds,” Louis smiles, a bit cocky with it, which makes Harry roll his eyes.

“You didn’t have to do this to yourself.” Harry says disapprovingly. “I didn’t ask for a savior. I didn’t ask for you to kick some other guy’s ass.”

“I didn’t come over with the intention of kicking somebody’s ass. I came over there with the intention of politely telling someone to fuck off. He took it a step further. You know me, you know I’m not going to take that shit.”

“I do know that.” Harry says. Louis stares at him while he presses gauze to Louis’ cheekbone, doused in some kind of antibacterial healing ointment, which makes Louis hiss through his teeth. Harry looks like he’s pressing back a smile, which makes Louis feel a little better about the whole situation.

“You’re not really pissed at me, are you?” Louis asks, wincing as Harry touches his lip. “Because I don’t really feel like shit for decking him, but I will feel like shit about it if you’re really pissed.”

“I just don’t like when you do that to yourself. It makes me nervous. Always did, and it hasn’t changed,” Harry shrugs. “You have to keep an eye on your lip. I don’t think he hit you hard enough to concuss you, but keep an eye out for that, too. The bruise on your cheek will clear up in a few days. And your hand definitely isn’t broken or anything, it’ll just hurt for a bit.”

“You ever think about being a doctor or summat?” Louis asks, cradling his right hand in his left.

“No, because then I’d have to deal with people like you all the time,” Harry retorts, shutting the first aid kit and putting it back in its rightful place under the sink. “I can crash on your couch.”

“No, sleep in my bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.” Louis says immediately. He pushes himself off the counter. Louis grabs two water bottles from the fridge, handing one to Harry. “It’s all set up, because it’s my bed, unless you want me to, like, change the sheets or something. Which I did just do, for the record.”

“It’s–it’s fine. Thank you, Louis. For at the club and for now, for the record.” Harry says lowly, smirking at Louis when he pulls Louis’ line.

Louis rolls his eyes. “You’re drunk, Styles. Go get to bed.”

It takes Louis a long fucking time to fall asleep on the sofa. He just keeps thinking about Harry upstairs in his bed. Keeps thinking about how long it’s been since that happened. Keeps thinking about the fact that Louis isn’t laying up there with him.

When Louis wakes up in the morning, he finds the note Harry left on the pillowcase saying he called a cab, and he’s already gone.

 

 _you can cry away all your complicated memories  
_ _that keep you up so many nights,  
_ _but darling save your apologies, cause i know_  
that you're scared but i swear you'll be alright.   
 **boxes, the goo goo dolls**  

 

“It doesn’t feel like Christmas,” Lottie sighs, staring at the tree. “It just doesn’t fucking feel right, you know?”

“I do know.” Louis nods. “But all we can do is try to make it feel like Christmas, it’s what she would’ve wanted.”

Lottie sighs again, dropping down onto the sofa. Louis sits down beside her, opening his beer. “Has there been a day in the last two weeks where you weren’t drinking?”

“Yeah, probably. All the days feel the same, Lots.” Louis sighs.

“Yeah, but this is Christmas Eve. Maybe don’t drink today? At least until after the young twins are asleep,” Lottie suggests.

“Sure, whatever.” Louis grumbles, putting his beer on the table.

The doorbell rings out, and Fizzy calls that she’s got it. Two minutes later, Fizzy is coming into the living room with Harry hot on her tail. “Hi, Lou.” he smiles warmly.

“Found a visitor for you,” Fizzy muses.

“Oh, I’ll give you two the room, then.” Lottie singsongs, standing up. She plucks Louis’ beer from his hands, much to his dismay, before leaving the room.

“I wanted to come see how you were doing.” Harry says, sitting on the couch beside Louis. “It being Christmas Eve slash your birthday and all, I wanted to check up on all of you.”

“I’m doing alright. Lottie’s accusing me of alcoholism, Dan’s been spending a lot of time with the twins. Daisy and Phoebe still really aren’t talking to me, which I can only somewhat understand. But I’m… okay. Hate that it’s Christmas Eve and she isn’t here, but… I’ll be okay. We all will.” Louis summarizes, looking at Harry closely, trying to get a solid read but coming up empty.

They stare at each other for maybe a beat too long before Harry hums, nodding. “I get that. _Are_ you an alcoholic?”

Louis scoffs. “No. It’s just because I’m home, you know? I always drink more when I'm here.”

“And because your mum died.”

Louis visibly flinches when Harry says those words, knows for a fact that he does because Harry reaches forward and puts a hand on Louis’ knee. “I still don’t like to say that out loud.” Louis says softly.

“Listen, do you wanna get out of here for awhile? Just go somewhere and… talk.” Harry asks, already standing up. “I’ll bring you back here as soon as you’re okay again, yeah? I don’t wanna keep you from your family for too long.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure. You’re driving.” Louis says, standing up.

“Obviously.” Harry scoffs.

Louis hollers that he’ll be back while he’s on his way out the door, then they’re off in Harry’s car. “Where are we going?” Louis asks, propping a foot up on the dash.

“We’re just gonna park in an empty lot and talk. Please take your dirty shoe off my dashboard.”

“They’re brand new, actually.” Louis says. “Got ‘em… for my birthday.”

Harry glances over at him. “I got you a gift, too.”

“Harry, you didn’t have to do that—”

“Oh, shut up. This is the first time I’ve seen you in ages and it’s your birthday and Christmas and I wanted to get you something. I got an idea and I thought of you and I wanted to give you something.”

“You saw something and you thought about me?”

“Of course. Think about you more often than I like to admit,” Harry says lowly, flicking his blinker on to turn down the next street.

“Got something you want to say, Styles?” Louis asks. He's not entirely sure he's up for this conversation with Harry, but it'll keep his mind off of everything else that's going on and somehow Louis feels like he can handle talking about what happened between the two of them better than he can handle what's going on elsewhere. 

“I don’t like seeing you with Zayn,” Harry says, with absolutely no hesitation. If Louis weren’t so caught off guard by the statement he’d probably be a bit more angered by it. But, he didn’t come prepared for a fight.

“Harry, it doesn’t mean anything—”

“I know you said it doesn’t mean anything, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

And now _that_ pisses him off. “It’s not like you have any right to be affected by it anyway,” Louis snaps, looking out the window. “Do you care if I smoke in the car?”

“Just open the window a bit,” Harry says, suddenly sounding distant.

“I’m sorry I snapped. I just… wasn’t expecting to have to talk about it, that’s all.” Louis tells him quietly, rolling the window down a crack and lighting a cigarette.

“It’s okay. You’re grieving. I was pushing it.” Harry shrugs. “It’s fine.”

Harry pulls off into an empty parking lot on the other side of town, but leaves the car running so they can savor the heat. Louis tosses his cigarette out the window and rolls it back up. “It doesn’t feel like Christmas. I don’t think the girls have watched _Elf_ one time this year. And I don’t think they’ve sang one Christmas song. The last time I heard someone sing a Christmas song was when we were drunk leaving the club after my mother’s funeral and Niall was serenading us.”

“It probably isn’t supposed to feel like Christmas.” Harry says. “You know, you lost your mum and nothing is going to feel the same for a long time. But you guys are going to get through it. And I know you’re probably tired of hearing that, but I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“Just hearing you talk is enough, even if you’re saying shit I’ve been told a hundred times. Haven’t heard you talk on-end for a long time,” Louis says.

“I know, it’s been a while. Since we’ve seen each other at all, really. But Zayn told me about your mum and I had to come, you know? We all used to be so close, never as close as you and Zayn but… we were all close.” Harry finishes his sentence somewhat awkwardly, looking over at Louis.

“Yeah, we were.” Louis nods. “I’m glad you’re all here, I never would’ve gotten through it without you. Never _will_ get through it without you.”

“Well, I’m here for you. We all are.”

“I appreciate it. The whole family does. They adore all of you,” Louis admits. “Harry, you know… Zayn and I… that was never a thing when _we_ were a thing, right?”

“I know. And I wasn’t going to ask, really. I know I have no right and you don’t have to explain yourself to me at _all._ You and Z are friends, always have been. And you’re both hot and, you know, into guys. You don’t owe me an explanation any further than that.”

“But you said you still think about me. You think about me… like that?”

Harry’s fingers fidget with the steering wheel. He’s stopped looking at Louis again. “We were so young, neither of us had anything figured out. But you were the one thing I was always sure of. Then uni happened and I don’t blame you for drifting away, you wanted to do big things and now you’re on the road to doing them. Yeah, I still think about you sometimes. But everybody has that…” Harry trails off, voice growing softer the longer he talks for.

“That what?” Louis prompts, studying him carefully.

Harry exhales sharply, like he wants to laugh but can’t quite get it out. “That one _great_ _love_ in their life, or whatever. I always figured you were mine and that’s why I still think about you.”

“For whatever it’s worth, I think about you too. And I’m sorry that uni pulled us apart. That I never came back for you.”

Harry shrugs. He sniffs and wipes his eye, and for _once_ a Tomlinson isn’t the one crying. “It’s alright. I really am over it by now, you know. It’s just… being back here with you, mourning your mum. It’s all mixing together again after so long.”

“I hate that losing my mum is what had to bring us all together again. She ripped me apart almost every time we talked for a solid year    because I never tried to win you back.”

“I could’ve reached out just as easily as you, but I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I was scared. You were so real for me even when we were young, and I was scared that if we started talking again, it’d be just as real.”

“Never pegged you to be afraid of commitment, Styles.” Louis snorts, toying with his shoelaces.

Harry sighs frustratedly. “I’m not. Well, not always. But, like, I don’t know. It’s all fucking weird and I don’t know how to explain it to you. You don’t need to deal with me and my messy thoughts right now.”

“It’s just… it’s been six years, Harry. I don’t know what you want me to say,” Louis whispers.

“I don’t think I know what I want you to say either.” Harry admits, running a hand through his hair.

“You know, I almost didn’t recognize you when I saw you,” Louis says thoughtfully, and Harry laughs. “I’m serious! You’re so fuckin’ tall and confident and you just… you look so much different. Fitter, like, physically, because you were always fit, you’re just… I dunno, you’ve _clearly_ been working out. You look older and more put-together and you’re nowhere near as shy.”

“I was never _shy—”_ Harry protests, but Louis cuts him off with a laugh.

“The first time I ever spoke to you, you could barely get a fucking word out. Even after I cracked the seal and you started talking to me, when we became friends, you were still so insanely closed-off. And, like, I’m a private person, but you were just a whole other level.”

“And what am I now?”

“Well, you only share posts about dogs on Facebook, no personal information. Still private in that sense. But you seem more… I dunno. Open?” Louis shrugs. “You’re just different, that’s all. You’re acting different, you look different. It’s been six years, I really don’t know what I expected.”

“Good different or bad different?”

Louis looks over at him, pretending to really ponder the question. “Good different, Styles.”

Harry nods slowly, breaking out into a grin. “You look good-different, too. I was shocked when I saw you. I mean, you still look a little sad and a little tired, but still good.”

“Oh, you’re just dropping flattery all over the place, aren’t you?” Louis groans, rubbing his face.

Neither one of them replies for a bit, Harry absently flicking through the radio stations trying to find something worth listening to while Louis fidgets with the laces of his new sneakers.

“Louis?” Harry asks suddenly. Louis hums questioningly. “Is Zayn the last person you’ve kissed?”

Louis actually has to think about it, think back to the handful of nights they’ve spent at a pub or a club over the past two weeks, but settles on the fact that yes, Zayn is very likely the last person he kissed. “Yeah, I think so. Why?”

“Because I, um.” Harry stutters, suddenly turning back into the same kid Louis left behind six years ago. Louis looks over at him, in time to see Harry leaning across the center console closer to him. “I’d like to change that, if at all possible.”

Louis’ breath catches in his throat and he manages to nod, leaning closer to Harry as well. It’s slow, the closing of the distance between them. It’s slow, like it took them six years to get back here. It’s slow, feels like honey. Tastes like six years too late but somehow ages too early. It feels like, just for a moment, somehow, this kiss will fuse all of Louis’ broken parts together.

“Am I a better kisser than Zayn?” Harry asks, voice barely a whisper into the space between them.

“You… are a better kisser than anyone I’ve ever had,” Louis replies, slowly, his wits taking a millenium to come back to him.

“Not so shy anymore, huh?” Harry grins, sitting back in his seat again. “Anyway, let’s talk about your mum.”

“Was kissing me just your way of buttering me up before you talked about the hard stuff?”

“I had to kiss you before I lost the nerve. But I didn’t drive you out here to kiss you, I drove you out here to have you _talk_ because it’s healthy.”

“You have to work up nerve to kiss me?” Louis laughs.

“Yeah, I did. _Do.”_ Harry says softly. “Now, your mum. How’re you doing, really?”

Louis sighs heavily, resting his elbow on the center console. “I miss her, a lot. I feel like I’m looking for her everywhere. Expecting her to walk in and command the room with a hard look and a gesture of her hand. Make us all feel better just by hearing her voice. I called her phone the other day just to listen to the voicemail greeting.”

“How are the girls doing with everything?”

“Same as I said before. Daisy and Pho won’t really talk to me, Lottie’s worried about me and I’m worried about her. I just, like, don’t know what to do. And now it’s Christmas Eve and nothing is the same and I don’t know how to help them.”

Harry hums, nodding. “If you want, um, I could stay at the house with you guys tonight. Just, like, be a buffer. Try to make it more… Christmassy.”

Louis nods, swallowing hard. “Yeah, if— if you want. You don’t have to go home?”

“My mum will understand completely. She’d encourage me to, really. I'd be lying if I said we hadn't tossed around the idea already.” Harry says assuredly. “Are you ready to go?”

“I will be. Just… just give me a minute.” Louis says. “I need a minute.”

He takes a few deep breaths, trying to talk himself out of crying. After more than a minute Louis nods, sitting back and buckling his seatbelt. “Okay, we can go.”

Harry nods and pulls out of the parking lot without another word. They drive listening to the lineup of Christmas songs on the radio, not speaking but not feeling awkward about it. Harry parks in the driveway and shuts the car off, looking over at Louis before he opens the door.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Fine. Listen, I’m really sorry in advance for however anyone behaves—”

“I admit that I do have an ego, but it’s not _that_ damageable.” Harry assures, laughing.

“Okay, but just remember that you wanted this.”

Harry smiles. “Yeah, I did.”

They head into the house, where there’s nothing but silence. They talk to Fizzy for a few minutes before she abandons them. “Okay.” Harry says, clapping his hands together. “I’m going to get all of them. You’re going to turn on the TV and find that music channel that plays holiday songs, and we’re going to sing and play Cards Against Humanity.”

“Good luck with that,” Louis huffs, leaning forward and reaching for the remote.

Harry returns nearly ten minutes later with all four of Louis’ sisters, all of them looking relatively unamused. He has a box under his arm, which shows itself to be Cards Against Humanity when he sets it on the coffee table. “Ooh, _Do They Know It’s Christmas_ , what a solid song.” Harry sings, sitting cross legged on the floor. “Can you get us wine?”

“Oh, Lottie’s put me on a—”

Harry cuts him off with a hand. “We’re on Harry’s rules now, and I say it’s okay if you and I — and Lottie — each have a glass of wine while we play this game.”

“Mum never let us play Cards Against Humanity,” Daisy says absently, watching Harry deal the deck out.

“Yeah, well. I think she’ll be alright with it now,” Harry says. “She’ll forgive me, trust me.”

Louis pours three glasses of wine and precariously carries them out to the living room, setting one down in front of Harry before handing the other to his sister and sitting down beside Harry.

“Does everyone know how the game works?” Harry asks, looking down at his cards. The girls utter agreements and the game starts, Harry appointing Phoebe as the first judge.

“Don’t peek at my cards,” Harry says, making a show of shielding his hand from Louis.

Louis laughs into his wine glass. “I wouldn’t dare. My hand is definitely better than yours, anyhow. _Oh,_ loser has to perform whatever Christmas song comes on when the game is over.”

The longer they play, the more loose and open the girls become. Louis can’t believe this is fucking working, and he knows all credit is due to Harry. It probably helps that he’s not family, not directly related nor involved, so they don’t feel the need to put on any show for him. He even catches Daisy and Phoebe starting to sing along to the songs that come on, without Harry even prompting them.

“Who won?” Lottie asks, finishing her glass of wine.

“Count up your cards.” Harry replies, beginning to count his own. “I’ve only got four.”

“Six.” Louis says, setting them on the table.

“Louis won. Louis always wins.” Fizzy groans, tossing her cards onto the table.

Louis sticks his tongue out at her. “Loser has to sing a song. We’re on… ooh, _Silent Night._ Lottie, I believe you only have three cards?”

Lottie groans, but she goes for it anyway – much to Louis’ surprise. She’s ridiculous with her rendition of the song, making her sisters dissolve into laughter and making Louis smile. He leans into Harry, planting his hand on the floor behind Harry’s back. “Thank you for doing this,” he whispers. “I haven’t seen them smile like this in months.”

Daisy’s standing in front of the two of them suddenly, holding the guitar in her hands. “You should play a song.” she says, offering it to Louis.

“Oh, Dais, I don’t— I can’t—”

Harry leans forward, jostling Louis against his chest, and takes the guitar from Daisy. “I’ve got it. What do you wanna hear?”

“Um, what can you play?”

 _“Hallelujah_ is just about the only Christmas song I can play in full, so we can belt that one out?” Harry suggests, already starting to strum.

“Isn’t that, like, a complicated song? Why is that one of the only ones you know off the top of your head?” Louis asks, looking over at Harry curiously.

Harry sits up a little straighter, sitting cross-legged and still strumming the guitar. He shrugs. “Dunno. Like the song, I guess.”

The first verse of the song sounds fucking heavenly coming off of Harry’s tongue. Louis loses himself in it, until Harry nudges him and coaxes him to sing along.

Together, they chorus, _“Your faith was strong but you needed proof, you saw her bathing on the roof, her beauty in the moonlight overthrew you… She tied you to the kitchen chair, she broke your throne and she cut your hair, and from your lips she drew the hallelujah.”_

Louis can feel himself smiling through it. The last time they were singing in this living room, Louis completely lost himself. This time, he feels like he’s just finding himself. He’s here, completely and totally, present and singing in front of his sisters with Harry.

“You’re a really great singer,” Lottie says genuinely. “Both of you, especially together. And, um, thank you… for this.”

Harry smiles warmly at her, his fingers still absently plucking the chords. “Of course. I hope I made it feel more… Christmassy.”

“You did.”

“Oh, shit, that reminds me. None of you go anywhere, I’ll be right back.” Harry says, shoving the guitar in Louis’ lap and standing up. He leaves quickly without another word, giving Louis no time to protest or question.

“Dan is gonna be sad that he missed this,” Daisy says after Harry’s left, instead of asking about where he’s run off to.

“He’s upstairs spending time with Ernie and Doris. That’s what he needs to do to… you know, cope.” Louis explains.

They don’t say anything else until Harry comes back into the room, a tote bag in his right hand. “Harold, what the hell is that?” Louis asks. He reaches behind himself and puts the guitar on the sofa, not once taking his eyes off of Harry.

“It’s Christmas.” Harry shrugs, sitting back down next to Louis. he reaches into the tote bag and pulls out a small, long box, and hands it to Fizzy. The next similar-looking box goes to Lottie, then one for each to the twins.

 _“Harold._ Are you kidding me?” Louis asks, looking at him in disbelief.

“Nope. And stop calling me Harold.” Harry says, looking at the girls. “You can open them. They’re kind of the same thing, so try to go at the same time, yeah?”

Louis watches in awe, the same look of awe that his sisters have on their faces, as they open the gifts. They all produce, in relative synchronization, the same silver chain. “So it’s, um, a silver necklace with your mum’s initials on the front and a quote from Maya Angelou on the back. _Nothing can dim the light which shines from within._ And they all match, because you’re sisters and you’ll always be with each other and— and so will your mum. You can all wear them or just look at them or hate me for giving you a wearable reminder—”

Harry gets cut off when Fizzy comes over and throws her arms around his neck. Louis hears her sniffle and whisper thank you before pulling back. All of the girls do the same, and then they disperse, heading upstairs together and talking quietly.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Louis whispers, angling his body to look at Harry.

“Wait to lecture me until I give you your gift,” Harry says, pulling one last perfectly-wrapped present out of the tote bag.

“I didn’t get you anything.” Louis tells him. It’s all he can manage to say; Harry, unsurprisingly, has him at a loss for words.

“I don’t want anything.” Harry replies simply, handing Louis the box. “Just open it, okay?”

Louis tears through the paper and tosses it aside before opening the box. There’s a deep red-colored book sitting in there. Louis picks it up and opens it up. On the first page, in the very center, there’s a small picture of Louis’ entire family, little twins and all, surrounded by Harry’s scrawly writing.

_Louis,_

_I know you’re going to give me hell for this, but it was something I felt I needed to do. This is a collection of pictures — of your family and of our friends — that I hope cheers you up and helps you to remember why you are who you are._

_Thank you for letting me back into your life. Whether it be only in the spirit of Christmas or something you genuinely wanted to do, I’m very glad it happened._

_Merry Christmas and happy 25th._

_All the love,_

_Harry xx_

Louis sniffs, already trying to hold back tears. “Harry.” he says softly, flipping the first page. Louis finds himself in a mirage of memories, pictures of himself and Zayn, himself and Liam, Niall, Harry. Himself and his mother. “Where did you get all these?” he chokes out, flipping another page.

“I had to do some serious digging. But as soon as I heard about your mum I knew I wanted to give you this. Because I knew you’d be having a rough time and I wanted to remind you, you know? Of how good your life is and how many people love you.” Harry explains, shrugging like it isn’t that big of a deal. “I just… I wanted to do something for you.”

Louis reaches up and puts a hand on Harry’s cheek, gently rubbing his face with his thumb. “You were always too good for me,” Louis whispers.

Harry puts his hand over Louis’, drawing his knuckles to his mouth and kissing the back of Louis’ hand. “You know that isn’t true,” he replies.

“Of course it is.” Louis sighs, taking his hand back. He absently touches the spot where Harry kissed. “You were always so kind and always cleaning up my messes for me and now you’re here just… being you. Even after all these years. You’re making a photo album and buying my sisters pretty necklaces and just… you were always too good for me.”

“Louis.” Harry says softly. “You’re crying, you know?”

“Fuck. No, I didn’t. I’m sorry,” Louis mutters, wiping his cheeks with both hands. “You didn’t sign up for this.”

Harry puts his own hand on Louis’ face this time, wiping away tears. “Louis, I’m always here for you, you know that. And I know— I know we haven’t talked in a long time so I guess I haven’t _always_ been there for you but you didn’t… you didn’t need someone then. You need someone now, and I— I’m here.”

Louis moves away from Harry’s touch, coughing and trying to swallow the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry for letting go of you so long ago. I’m sorry for not talking to you after I left. And I was still friends with Zayn but we never seemed to… cross paths again, and I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Lou.” Harry says. His hand is on Louis’ knee now, like he just has to touch Louis in some way for both of their comfort. “We crossed paths again now, that’s all that matters, right?”

Louis nods, wiping his cheeks again. “Harry?”

“Louis?”

“Thank you. For everything.”

“Of course.”

“And I’m sorry I don’t have a Christmas present for you.” Louis apologizes. “Will you let me make it up to you?”

Harry lets out a laugh. Louis’ just watching Harry’s thumb rub small circles on Louis’ knee. “How do you suppose you’ll do that?”

“Let me take you to dinner? Not—not now, obviously. And not tomorrow. But the day after?” Louis asks.

Harry nods, tears in his own eyes. “Yeah, I’ll let you take me to dinner. In the spirit of giving?”

“No, in the spirit of… rekindling something that should’ve been rekindled a long, long time ago.” Louis replies. “I’m going to kiss you now, and I promise it’s going to be because I genuinely want to.”

Harry barely gets a laugh out before Louis’ kissing him, gentle and then more firm. Louis tilts his head, changing up the pressure just slightly before parting momentarily. Harry closes the gap again. It continues like this until they slip up, teeth knocking together and making them both laugh. “Zayn hasn’t taught you to make out better than that? Your teeth still get in the way?” Harry asks, pressing his lips to Louis’ cheek.

“Don’t talk about Zayn anymore.” Louis makes a face. “Listen, do you want… do you want to spend the night? No getting off, nothing other than making out and talking, if you want.”

“Do you _want_ me to stay? I don’t want to intrude on this Christmas, I know it’s a rough one—”

“That’s exactly why you should stay. It’s exactly why I _want_ you to stay, and I know my mum would want it, too. You’ve been here for, what, three hours? And the girls are laughing and smiling more than they have in the past year. Dan’s been MIA for awhile, spending a lot of time with the babies and I don’t blame him and I’m trying to make sure the girls don’t either, but they… need someone besides me, I think. The fact that it’s Christmas is the _exact_ reason why I’m asking you to stay.”

Harry stares at him, looking shocked and pleased and happy all at once. “I would love to stay. I’ll even make breakfast tomorrow morning.”

“And you’ll help me be Santa Clause tonight? The twins are still young and we need to give them a Christmas, so. You’ve got to be willing to play along with the charade.”

“Of course. I’ll even be the one to eat the cookies,” Harry grins, pecking Louis on the mouth.

 

_i need a sign to let me know you're here  
_ _'cause my tv set just keeps it all from being clear  
_ _i want a reason for the way things have to be  
_ _i need a hand to help build up  
_ _some kind of hope inside of me.  
_ **_calling all angels, train_ **

 

Louis wakes up on Christmas morning to his bedroom door opening and Fizzy telling him that he needs to wake up and come downstairs. He groans, rolling over and expecting to hit Harry somewhere else on the bed, but finds nothing. “Harry?” he asks dumbly, opening his eyes.

“He’s already downstairs cooking breakfast, you can’t smell it?” Fizzy asks, leaning against the door jam. “Are you going to get up and come down and watch the little ones open presents? They’re going nuts up here, I didn’t wanna let them go down until I knew if you were coming too.”

Louis nods, sitting up. “Give me three minutes to pee and brush my teeth and then we can bring them down.”

Fizzy nods, leaving the room. Louis quickly changes into a new pair of sweats and a tee shirt before heading to the bathroom to piss and wash up, as promised. Ernest and Doris are extremely happy to see him, and take off down the stairs as soon as he gives them the go ahead. They attack the presents under the tree immediately, which Louis takes a moment to smile at before heading to the kitchen to find Harry.

 _Harry,_ who’s standing over the stove top flipping pancakes wearing a pair of Louis’ old sweats and one of Louis’ sweatshirts. Louis comes up alongside him, leaning against the counter next to the stove. “Good morning.” he remarks, looking Harry up and down. His hair is pulled back into a bun, a thick headscarf keeping back the remaining loose curls.

“Morning. How are you?” Harry asks, sparing him a split-second glance but otherwise not taking his eyes off the pancakes.

“I’m… alright. For now. We’ll see how the rest of the day goes.” Louis sighs. He spots the plate of bacon on his other side and his eyes widen excitedly, and he reaches over to take a piece. “You weren’t kidding about breakfast, huh?”

Harry shakes his head. “Of course not. I take breakfast very seriously, Louis. Oh, I had to steal some of your clothes, hope you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind at all. Are we still on for dinner tomorrow night?”

“Obviously.” Harry scoffs, flipping another pancake. “How are the twins?”

“Very excited about their gifts. And the girls still have smiles on their faces, even though I know we’re all a little bit sad. It’ll probably be like that for a long time, I’m sorry you’re getting dragged in at this point. When we’re all sad and angry and mean.”

Harry leans over and kisses him quickly before turning his attention back to the pancakes. “You’re rambling, and it’s adorable, but please stop. Louis, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t _want_ to be here. I love your family and I–I care about you, and you need me here.”

“Yeah but I… I don’t want you to be here out of…” Louis trails off, folding his arms across his chest indignantly. “Out of _obligation._ I don’t want you to feel like you _have_ to be here because I’m sad and my mum died and you’re seeing me for the first time in six years and we’re all nostalgic because we just lost someone.”

“Again, rambling. And I’m not here because I feel an obligation. I’m here because I _want_ to be here. Because we used to have something years ago and we got lost along the way but now I have you back and I want to try again. I’m here because you promised to take me to dinner tomorrow night and that is the first step to trying again. The event that brought us together just happens to be a sad one.”

Harry hands Louis a plate full of pancakes and looks at him expectantly. “Put this on the table?”

Louis blinks at him, and Harry rolls his eyes. “Please. Stop overthinking everything and tell your sisters that there’s pancakes if they want them.”

They all eat breakfast together. Louis douses his entire meal in syrup, until Harry forces the bottle away from him because “that’s way too much sugar, first of all, and second of all it’s just plain gross”. Everyone talks and laughs and Doris goes on a rant about the gifts she got from Santa, and she’s even able to make Dan laugh, which surprises Louis. After everyone has dispersed again and Harry and Lottie are washing dishes, Louis kisses Harry on the cheek before he sneaks outside for a smoke.

While he’s standing on the front porch in the cold, a car pulls up the driveway and parks beside Harry’s. It’s Zayn’s car, Louis knows it right away. He comes up the front steps, flashing Louis a grin.

“Merry Christmas, bro.” he says. “Can I have?”

Louis nods, digging the pack out again and handing it to Zayn. “Merry Christmas. What’re you doing here?”

“Just checking up on you, that’s all. But I clearly don’t need to, Harry beat me to it?” Zayn asks, gesturing to the car in the driveway and handing the pack back to Louis after he’s lit up.

“He’s, um. Been here all night, actually.”

Zayn’s eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”

“Yeah. I think we’re gonna, like, try again?” Louis feels like he’s visibly flinching as he inhales again.

“Shit, no way. I thought you were just in your head about him the past few weeks, I didn’t think you’d actually, you know, still have feelings for him. I mean, it’s been six years.”

“Yeah, it has. But we both realized that we never quite stopped thinking about each other and that it wouldn’t be… _bad_ to try again. We didn’t end badly, we just drifted apart,” Louis shrugs. He flicks the cigarette and watches the ash fall onto a strip of ice near the railing.

“No more booty calls then?”

Louis rolls his eyes. “It was never a proper booty call. But, uh, no, I don’t think so. Him and I haven’t, y’know, _done_ anything yet aside from make out a bit, but…” he trails off, finally looking up at Zayn.

“You could. You want to.” Zayn fills in, nodding. “I always kind of figured you’d go back to each other. Didn’t think it’d take this long or happen in this way, but I always had a hunch.”

“Do you want to come in? H cooked breakfast, there’s still a bit left.”

Zayn shakes his head, exhaling smoke right into Louis’ face on purpose. “Nah, mate. I’ve gotta spend time with my folks. You need to be with your family. And your rekindled romance. I just stopped by to see how you were doing, but Harry’s got you and I don’t think I need to worry about him dropping the ball.”

“Thank you.” Louis says softly. “For everything, ever since I’ve known you, not just the past year.”

Zayn smiles. “Any time, man. Cradle to grave, yeah?”

“Cradle to grave.” Louis affirms, nodding.

“Alright. I’m gonna head off now, before my balls freeze and fall off. I love you, man.”

Louis smiles at him. “Love you, too.”

He finishes his cigarette while Zayn walks away, then waves one final time before going back inside. Harry is just finishing up in the kitchen, this time alone. “Hey, Lou. Would you consider that breakfast a success?” he asks, looking over his shoulder as Louis comes into the kitchen.

“Yeah, I’d consider it a success. Don’t stress about it, babe, _you_ are the guest.” Louis replies. “Zayn just stopped by, he wanted to check up on me.”

“Oh. He didn’t want to stay?” Harry asks, dropping the hand towel on the edge of the sink and turning to face Louis.

“No, he was just stopping by. Said you had me and that was good enough for him,” Louis replies. Harry nods slowly, taking a step closer to him. “What’re you doing?”

“Haven’t kissed you yet today, that’s all.” Harry shrugs, putting his both his hands on Louis’ waist.

“That’s because you got out of bed insanely early and left me alone. You would’ve gotten kissed plenty had you still been in bed,” Louis drawls. He reaches up and adjusts Harry’s headband, smiling at him. “You can kiss me now, if you’re quick.”

Harry does just that, pulling Louis flush against him and kissing him slowly. Louis forces him away after a few long moments, resting his cheek against Harry’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says softly, thumb rubbing circles on Harry’s back.

“I’m glad, too. Your sisters still have more presents to open, think we should get in there?”

 

The day is spent happy, sure, but with a heaviness to it that Louis wishes he could get rid of. He does everything he can think of to lighten the mood, pulls tricks right from his mum’s book that work for at least a little while. They all cook dinner together in the kitchen; even Dan sticks around, helping to put dinner on the table.

“You’re a great cook,” Louis says, his mouth full of pasta. “You’re literally a saint.”

Harry laughs. “I’m alright, I guess. Definitely not as good as my mum, let alone yours.”

Louis shrugs, looking up at him across the table. “Close second,” he admits. “Right?” he asks, kicking Lottie under the table and making her look up from her plate.

“What? Yeah, sure.” Lottie says, sounding far away.

Louis sighs, taking a sip from his wine. Dinner falls silent after that, and Louis doesn’t exactly know how to pick it up again. He decides not to even bother, that it’s not worth it because he’s not his mother and her words are the only ones that can soothe anyone right now. The girls are all wearing the necklaces Harry gave them, but it’s not doing enough to bring Jay back.

“Okay.” Louis says finally, downing the remainder of his wine and standing up. “I know everyone’s torn apart right now but this not-talking shit isn’t going to cut it.”

“Louis—” Dan starts, but Louis cuts him off.

“No, I’m sorry, but this goes for you, too,” he says. “We lost our  _mother_ and I cannot think of anything more cruel than that. That is the worst sentence I’ve ever had to say. Sometimes I can hardly even say it. But we _need_ to say it, we need to talk about it. We need each other more than ever right now but if you aren’t talking to me, we’ll never get through this. I don’t want to keep on having silent dinners and late nights where we sit around like we want to talk, but can’t quite bring ourselves to. We _lost_ our _mum.”_ Louis reiterates, looking at the faces of his sisters and trying to get a read on them.

“I know you don’t want to say anything right now. And you don’t have to,” he continues. “But you need to know that I’m here for you, whenever you want to talk, no matter what you have to say. If you want to yell at me or cry or just tell me to fuck right off, I don’t care. You need to know I’m here for you and that I’m going to spend the _rest_ of my life being here for you because mum… mum can’t. And, yeah, I guess she’ll always be in our memories or always be watching or whatever it is people believe. But you need to talk to me. That way I know how you’re doing and if you want to believe that mum’s up there watching over us and if you want to cry or if you want me to fuck off.”

His sisters and Dan stare at him in stunned silence. Louis can’t even bring himself to look at Harry for a reaction. “Okay, that’s it. That’s all I wanted to say. But this quiet shit needs to stop.”

Louis grabs the bottle of wine from the center of the dining table before leaving the room. He heads upstairs to his bedroom, shutting the door and hopping up on the windowsill. Louis pushes the window open and digs his cigarettes from his pocket and lights up.

Louis exhales heavily, trying to keep it out the window, and rests his head against the window frame. He smokes through two cigarettes before Harry comes into the room, shutting the door softly behind him.

“You okay?” he asks, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, like he doesn’t quite know what to do, what Louis wants or needs.

“No, not really.” Louis laughs dryly, taking a swig from the wine bottle.

“Um. Do you want to talk about it?”

“It’s a bit hypocritical if I said no, innit? Just yelled at my whole family because they won’t fuckin’ talk to me, I should probably talk to you.” Louis shakes his head and ashes his cigarette out the window.

Harry walks slowly towards Louis, sitting down in the chair beneath the window. He looks up at him, and Louis looks right back, taking in Harry’s tired, concerned appearance. “After you left, your sisters started talking. They’re just as worried about you as you are about them.”

Louis sighs, dropping the butt of his cigarette on the windowsill and pulling another from the pack. “They shouldn’t be worried about me,” he shakes his head.

“I mean, no offense, but do you blame them? You’re all wound up and scary and drinking all the time. And I know you’re having a tough time. I’ve seen it first hand over the past couple weeks. But everyone’s a little worried about everyone, and that’s how it’s going to be for a long, long time,” Harry says, reaching up and putting a hand on Louis’ knee. “And I know you’re going to snap sometimes or cry for no reason and I’m ready for all of that, I can handle it.”

“But my sisters can’t. I know.” Louis fills in, hitting his head once against the wall. “Were they upset after I left?”

“Not upset so much as they were concerned. But they saw where you were coming from and I think they’re going to try harder. Just to… be more present,” Harry says. “Can I ask you something kind of random? Last night, when Daisy wanted to to play the guitar, why couldn’t you?”

Louis sighs. “I haven’t played anything since she died. Since she got sick, really. I’ve hardly even sang, aside from with you and the guys. I just… I can’t. I dunno.”

Louis picks up the bottle of wine with his free hand, chugging it for a few seconds before putting it down and bringing the cigarette to his lips again. Cig hanging from the corner of his mouth, he puts a hand over Harry’s. Harry uses his other hand to pluck the cigarette from Louis’ lips, bringing it to his own. Harry inhales once and coughs it out, making Louis laugh and try to wave away the smoke.

“You’ve got asthma, haven’t you?” Louis asks, laughing softly. Harry nods, still coughing. “You’re an idiot.”

“Been awhile since I’ve smoked anything.” Harry admits. “You should put this out.”

Louis nods, taking the cig back and muffing it out against the outside of the house. He drops all three butts out the window before shutting it and hopping off the ledge. “I should go talk to my sisters,” he says, picking up the wine bottle and heading for the door. “I’ll be right back. Don’t— don’t go anywhere, okay?”

“I won’t go anywhere,” Harry promises.

Louis sets the bottle of wine on the nightstand — to save for later — before he goes downstairs, finding all of four of his sisters in the living room together, watching _Elf_ on the telly. “Now it feels like Christmas, huh?” Louis asks, sitting on the arm of the long sofa.

The girls all look at him expectantly, like they’re all waiting for him to snap again. “Listen…” he starts, sliding down onto the sofa. He reaches a foot out and pokes Phoebe’s leg, just making sure that she’s paying attention. “I’m sorry for what I said at dinner. I’m going kind of crazy, pent up in here trying to recover and keep my shit together. The silence is making me a bit more crazy, because we were never a quiet house, we were never quiet people. When Harry came over last night, you guys were talking and laughing more than you have in a year. And I guess it made me a little… I don’t know, exactly, but I was mostly happy to see you guys interacting and talking and being _happy._ I want it to be like that, I want you to be able to talk and laugh and be happy. But you haven’t really, and I don’t like that. The silence is fucking killing me, guys, and I snapped. And I’m sorry.”

He finishes his rant with a deep breath, studying each of his sisters and trying to figure out which one is going to speak first.

It’s Fizzy who clears her throat and sits up a little straighter. “It’s okay. I think things have been a little… tense lately, and that’s understandable. Expected, even. I — _we —_ will try harder to talk more, about anything.”

“I want to think that she’s still around. Looking down on us, or whatever. We never went to church often but mum always seemed to believe that God or whoever was always looking out, and I want to believe that she’s with them. Wherever that is and whoever they happen to be. It makes me feel better to think that she’s around, listening.” Lottie says honestly, pulling her knees to her chest.

“And what about you two?” Louis asks, looking towards Daisy and Phoebe.

“Same, I think,” Daisy whispers. “I dunno much about it, and I don’t think I want to.”

“That’s fair. I presume your twin is thinking the same way?” Louis looks at Phoebe, who nods. “Okay. Thank you for telling me where all of your heads are at. I’m sorry for snapping, _please_ believe me when I say that. And you don’t have to talk to me now, you don’t. But just… whenever.”

The girls all nod and Louis takes that as his cue to go. Before going back into his own room, he stops at Dan’s room. His _mother’s_ room. Louis hasn’t set foot in there since before she died, weeks before, probably, since most of her time towards the end was spent in a hospital bed. He knocks twice, and Dan calls to come in.

“I just wanted to apologize for, you know, freaking out a bit at dinner.” Louis says, hands slipping into the pockets of his sweats. “I just apologized to the girls, and I felt like I owed you one too.”

Dan smiles, pulling back the duvet. “You don’t, but I appreciate it. We’re all grieving and we’re all going to have our moments. But you’re doing… alright, Louis. Really. Better than I am, probably.”

Louis swallows hard, glancing around the room. His mum’s dresser appears untouched, as does her side of the bed. Louis grew up coming in here; crawling into the bed when he had nightmares, listening to Jay and Troy fight when he was only three years old, listening to Jay and Mark fight when he was older, covering Lottie’s little ears while it happened. Spending time in here while Jay was on bed rest with both sets of twins. Spending time in here when he came home from uni, talking with her until late at night. Spending time in here when Dan was out of town, with all the girls, too.

Spending time in here when his mother was too weak to get out of bed. Sleeping in her bed whenever Dan spent the night at the hospital with her. Spending time in here after talking to the girls. Spending time in here after the different events of the girls’ that his mother missed because she was too sick to go, filling Jay in on what she missed and showing her pictures and videos.

“Louis? Are you okay?”  Dan asks, his hand falling on Louis’ shoulder.

“Yeah. Just… haven’t been in here in awhile.” Louis replies, nodding. “Anyway, yeah. I just wanted to say that I was sorry. And, um, I told the girls if they ever needed to talk, I’d be here. And that goes for you, too.”

“And that goes for _you,_ too.” Dan replies.

Louis nods. “Okay, sure. Goodnight, Dan.”

“G’night, Louis.”

Louis finally goes back to his bedroom, finding Harry sitting with his back against the wall on Louis’ bed. “Hey,” Louis says lowly, climbing up and sitting beside him. “Just apologized to the girls, and Dan. That was the first time I’d been in my mum’s room in a long, long time.”

“And how was that?” Harry asks, grabbing Louis’ hand in his own.

“The apologizing was fine. Being in her room again was… weird.” Louis admits. “So much has happened in there, with her in it, and now she’s just. Not there. But everything else was still the same in there, and somehow it still felt…” he trails off, taking a deep breath, “empty. If that makes any sense.”

“It does make sense,” Harry says. Louis kisses his knuckles gently. “It makes sense. I’m sorry that things are like this.”

“It’s okay. Things are going to get better, sooner or later. I just hate that I turned twenty five without her here. I hate that we had to celebrate Christmas without her here. And she tried. She tried _so_ hard to make it to Christmas, but she just… she couldn’t hold on any longer,” Louis chokes out, his lips still brushing Harry’s knuckles.

Harry squeezes his hand, knocking it against Louis’ mouth, to which Louis retaliates by sticking his tongue out and lick him. “She did try. But you’re still here, so you need to start acting like it. No offense.”

“None taken, really.” Louis assures. “And I know I do. I’m trying to. I’m probably going to have to learn how to all over again, but… I’m trying.”

Harry sighs, looking away from Louis and out the window. “Lou,” he murmurs, dropping Louis’ hand and getting up on his knees to look out the window. “It’s snowing.”

“You’re fucking with me.” Louis deadpans, coming up behind Harry to see out the window. “Holy shit, it’s snowing. I don’t remember the last time it snowed _on_ Christmas.”

Harry looks over his shoulder at him, smiling widely. He leans in and pecks Louis’ cheek excitedly. “My mum kept on talking about how she wanted to see snow, just one more time. And she kept on saying that it was going to snow on Christmas. I called her crazy, told her December is the least snowy month of the year and that there was no way it would snow. And now it’s fucking snowing.”

There’s a soft knock at the door, Daisy peeking her head in. “That’s her,” Daisy whispers, coming and standing at the window.

Louis looks up at her. “What?”

“The snow. That’s mum. You know she wouldn’t shut up about it snowing on Christmas this year. This is her,” she says, touching her fingertips to the glass.

Louis smiles sadly, nodding. “Yeah, I… I guess it is, Dais.”

Daisy says goodnight to both of them before she leaves. “I can’t believe it’s snowing,” Louis says, still in disbelief.

Harry looks at him carefully, like he’s considering something. All of a sudden, Harry’s getting up off the bed and looking at Louis expectantly. “Get up. Throw on another pair of sweats. And warm shoes,” Harry says.

“Harold, what?” Louis laughs, now staring at _Harry_ in disbelief rather than the snow.

“Get _up._ Put on warmer clothes,” Harry repeats. “Come on, just do it.”

Louis, reluctantly, does what he asks. “Where are we going?”

Harry pulls a beanie on Louis’ head and grabs his hand. He drags Louis downstairs and out the front door of the house, out into the center of the lawn. “It’s _cold.”_ Louis remarks.

Harry turns around to look at him, big smile on his face and thick snowflakes catching on his eyelashes and his curly hair, which is still held back by his headscarf. “It’s snowing, Louis. It’s Christmas Day and it’s snowing. It’s your first day as a twenty-five year old man and it’s snowing on Christmas. In England. It's snowing on Christmas.”

Louis looks up at the sky, watching the snow fall down. “This is my mum,” he says softly, speaking it up into the night sky. “She’s here, right now. It’s Christmas Day and she’s not here and it’s snowing. This is my mum.”

Harry stops spinning in circles and looks at him. Louis looks back, tears in his eyes. “My mum is here. She’s— right now, this is her doing this. Making it snow in the middle of December in England. She’s showing us that she’s still here. I have spent _so_ much of my life wondering about that, what happens after you die. Where you go. I never really believed in God, or whatever, and I never told my mum that because I’m pretty sure she’d have a heart attack. And recently, I’ve been thinking that maybe the most cruel thing of all is what happens to people _after_ someone they love is gone, and I haven’t known what I’m supposed to do. But I… this makes me think she’s somewhere up there, watching over us and making it snow on Christmas to let us know that she’s _here,_ that she’s okay, she’s not in pain anymore and she doesn’t want us to be either.” Louis rambles, gesturing wildly with his hands and feeling _drunk,_ feeling like he’s having a fucking epiphany.

Harry laughs, looking at Louis with wide eyes. “You’re okay?” he asks, putting a hand on Louis’ cheek.

Louis nods, putting his own hand over Harry’s. “I will be. This is… this is my mum. And, you know, she always rooted for us. She gave me so much shit for letting you go, always said we’d end up together again and _she_ is what brought us back together. All of this is her. She’s still here. She’s watching, she’s listening, she’s rooting for… all of us. Everything, this is my mum, in everything.”

Harry smiles, wiping a snowflake or a tear — Louis isn’t quite sure which — off of Louis’ cheek. “This is your mum,” he whispers, nodding.

Louis presses up and kisses Harry square on the mouth, sweet and slow in the middle of the England-late-December-snow. “I can never thank you enough. For being here. For being so supportive. For… stepping up with my sisters when they didn’t want me. Thank you,” he whispers, kissing both of Harry’s cheeks.

“You don’t need to thank me. I want to be here, through it all.” Harry says.

He has snowflakes on his eyelashes and they look so pretty there, Louis almost doesn’t want to wipe it away. He does it anyway, brushing Harry’s eyes with a gentle fingertip and pressing his cold finger to Harry’s cheek. “I’m so grateful for you. And I… I _care_ about you so much.” Harry opens his mouth to protest again, but Louis quickly cuts him off by kissing him. “Just let me say it, please. Don’t argue it, let me tell you I’m so glad you’re here and that I found you again. Let me tell you that I care about you and that I’m grateful for you.”

Harry nods, squeezing Louis’ hip. “Okay, I’ll let you say it, whenever you want. Let you say whatever you want, whenever you want. You talk and I listen, hang off of every word you say. Did— did the same with your mum, God.”

Louis sniffles, looking back up at the sky. “She would say jump and I’d ask how high. Even now, it’s freezing and it’s snowing and we’re all convinced it’s her doing and because of that I’m standing outside in the freezing cold.”

“She had that way about her. Do anything she asked. You do, too,” Harry tells him. He adjusts the hat on Louis’ head. “I’d do anything for you if you asked.”

Louis takes a step back from him, wanting to revel in the feeling of the snow on his skin and envision his mother standing right there with him. “For the last year of my life I feel like I’ve been holding my breath. Waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for things to get worse and worse. The last year of my life has been spent in and out of hospitals. The last year of my life has been filled with so much crying I never want to cry again, I’m not even sure I _can_ cry anymore. The last year of my life has been spent searching for some sign, some way to make everything all better. And because it started snowing, because you dragged me out to stand in it, that was the sign I needed,” Louis sighs, shaking his head in disbelief. “This is my mum, she’s here, doing this. Telling me it’s okay to feel whatever the fuck I want so long as I make it through because it's Christmas and I have you again and I’m twenty-five years old and I’m _alive.”_

“I didn’t this bringing you out here was going to be such a big revelation,” Harry admits. “But I’m glad it is.”

“I’m going to be okay, Harry. I don’t know if you realize how big of a thing that is for me. For awhile I really didn’t know if I’d be alright; thought I really might become an alcoholic hung up on his mum’s death. But I’m going to be okay, because my mum is up there watching all of us and she’s changing the weather to remind us that she will always, always be around.” Louis exhales heavily, gazing upward. “I love her, my heart aches, but she’s still here in some ways. And I think she can hear us now, she can see us now, and she’s… God, I don’t even know what the fuck I’m saying.”

“You’re going to be okay. You _all_ are. And you mum made it snow and she brought us back together and you’re going to be okay,” Harry summarizes easily, sounding proud and happy and admiring.

Louis looks at him again, only to find that Harry’s crying now, too. He steps up in front of him again, and Harry grabs both Louis’ hands in his. “Let’s go back inside now, we definitely look like we’re crazy and it’s cold as fuck out here,” Louis says, squeezing Harry’s hands.

“You’re okay?”

“I will be.” Louis affirms, nodding. “C’mon, love, let’s go back inside.”

Harry stops Louis from walking away by dropping his hands and grabbing his face instead, kissing him slowly. Louis hums into it, his cold hand coming to rest right over Harry’s warm heart. “I’m glad you had this moment,” Harry whispers against Louis’ lips before kissing him again.

“All because of you.” Louis replies. He pokes Harry’s nose before they finally head towards the door.

They leave their snow-damp shoes by the door but strip their cold clothes in the comfort of Louis’ bedroom, behind a locked door. Harry stops halfway through to drink from the bottle of wine Louis left on the nightstand. Louis laughs, nudging Harry’s knees apart to stand between them. He holds the bottle to Harry’s lips, forcing him to chug it until Harry lifts a hand and pulls the bottle away himself, a bit of red wine dribbling down his chin.

Louis fits his hand around his jaw, tilts Harry’s face up and first kisses his chin, then Harry’s lips. It’s light at first, until Harry presses into it. Harry’s big hand fits around Louis’ waist, coaxing him even closer. Louis lifts a leg up and straddles Harry’s waist, kissing him deeper. His hand moves to cup the back of Harry’s head as he pushes them both back against the mattress.

Louis breaks apart, nipping at Harry’s bottom lip before moving to go in again. “Louis—” Harry murmurs, his hand sliding over Louis’ arse. “Lou.”

Louis hums, breaking from Harry’s lips and kissing along his jaw to give Harry a chance to speak. “This is— making out like this usually leads to something else. Are you— are _we…”_

“You’re not making any sense.” Louis says, nipping at the hinge of Harry’s jaw.

“I just, um. Would you stop that and look at me, please?” Harry sighs frustratedly. Louis’ brow furrows and he picks his head up to look at Harry. He keeps his fingers at the base of Harry’s neck, tracing gentle patterns on his skin. “I’ve been with maybe five people, like, all the way. And you were one of them, so that’s four. And the last time— God, the last time was at least a year ago. And I know you have Zayn, and that’s a relatively regular thing, and he’s definitely better than I am—”

“I thought I told you to stop thinking about Zayn when we were making out.” Louis says, pinching the back of Harry’s neck lightly. He swallows hard, trying to keep himself together and _not_ lose his shit.

“Louis. I’m being serious.” Harry whines, beginning to sit up.

Louis sits up himself, pushing Harry back down and keeping his hand pressed to his chest. “Harold. We can do whatever you want. Whenever you want. You’re hanging onto every word I say and you should know that it’s the same for me. I would do anything, _anything_ you wanted. We can do whatever you want right now, no matter what it is. If you want to wait, we can wait. But this is not our first time around the block.”

“No, it’s not.” Harry says, propping himself up on his elbows. “But it’s… our first time around the block in a long time. And it’s not that I don’t want you; actually, it’s all I can think about, but… Ugh, I don’t know. I’m sorry, I’m being weird. I just— I want to do this right.”

“Harold, listen to me.” Louis says firmly, putting a hand on Harry’s cheek. “We can take this as fast or as slow as you want. Lately, I’ve become very aware of my life and that it’s short, but I have no problem with taking things slow. Doing them right. My mum would hit me if I rushed into things with you, no matter how right I think it may feel.”

“Waiting makes me sound like a fucking prude,” Harry mumbles, flopping back down onto the mattress and slapping a big hand over his face.

Louis laughs, pulling Harry’s hand away. “You’re not a prude. If anyone knows that, it’s me.”

“You’re not disappointed?” Harry asks softly.

“I don’t think you could ever disappoint me. I am perfectly content to lay here making out until we both fall asleep.” Louis says honestly. “Whatever you want or need, I’ll give it to you.”

“That promise is the best Christmas gift you could ever give me,” Harry smiles.

Louis kisses the center of his palm before moving Harry’s hand back to his waist. “I’d like to keep making out now, if that’s alright with you.”

Harry nods, and Louis leans in again. Harry kisses him back immediately, going pliant on the mattress underneath Louis. He groans into it, biting down on Louis’ bottom lip. Louis laughs softly, moving to suck along the column of Harry’s throat. “I love you,” Harry murmurs, on the end of a soft moan.

Louis sits bolt upright, Harry groaning when Louis’ hand digs into his ribcage. “You what?”

Both of Harry’s hands cover his face and he groans. Louis feels him kick a leg out, almost like he’s trying to get up but not really committing to it. “I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t— I don’t know why I said that.”

It’s not like it has to mean anything more; Louis says I love you to his friends all the time. But this feels like something more, if not right _now,_ it feels like it _could_ be something more. “You meant it, though?”

Harry groans again. “I think so. I mean, like, I care about you. And I love you. Just… can we not delve into that right now?”

Louis nods, rubbing a hand over Harry’s chest. “Of course. I don’t think my brain can handle that right now anyway.”

“Thank you, thank you. Please just keep your mouth on mine so I can’t say anything else.” Harry begs.

Louis does just that, because Harry asked him to, and because he wants to. “We should get to sleep.” Harry murmurs. “Strip me?”

Louis finally climbs off him and sits up straight beside him. “What d’you want off?”

“Anything you want,” Harry says, winking.

Louis rolls his eyes, pulling Harry’s shirt up over his head. “Are you going to strip me, too?”

Harry makes grabby hands at him until Louis comes close enough for him to hike Louis’ shirt up over his head and toss it away. Harry tugs Louis towards the head of the bed, laying him out and kissing him firmly. Louis hums into it and Harry smiles, starting to kiss a line down Louis’ chest.

“I thought you wanted to go slow,” Louis says thoughtfully, picking his leg up and planting his foot on the mattress.

“I am going slow. I’m not going anywhere you want me to go.”

“I want you to go anywhere, no matter where it is.”

“Here?” Harry asks, before gently sucking right above Louis’ hipbone. Louis hums, nodding. Harry pecks Louis’ knee, through his joggers, and smiles. “Here?”

“Anywhere.”

He takes Louis leg and kisses down his calf to Louis’ ankle, kissing his triangle tattoo. “I’ve always loved this one. It’s adorable.” Harry notes.

He kisses the arch of Louis foot and Louis tugs his own leg back quickly, giving him a funny look. “No feet. You have a thing for my feet, do you?”

“No.” Harry bites, moving back up closer to Louis’ face with a hand on either side of his head. “I did warn you I wasn’t going anywhere you wanted me to go.”

Louis laughs. “Lay down, wanna snuggle.”

Harry flops down onto his back and moves Louis’ arm, nestling against his chest. “Thank you for everything,” Louis says after they’re both settled.

“You’re welcome,” Harry sighs. “I’m… I’m glad you’re making it through this. And I’m glad I’m here to watch it happen.”

Louis smiles. “I am, too, H.”

 

_and so we turn and so it goes  
_ _you feel the timing start to slip.  
_ _we'll meet again someday i hope  
_ _like midnight waves of passing ships.  
_ __**between the stars, canyon city**

 

 

“Lou, are you ready?” Harry calls. “If Lottie beats us there we’re never going to here the end of it.”

Louis laughs softly, shaking his head. The meeting at his mother’s headstone shouldn’t be a race, and he says this much, but Harry doesn’t reply. It’s been six months; six agonizing months that Louis is doing better during, but still isn’t healed. He’s not sure he ever _will_ be healed, what with his mother gone and so much of his life still ahead of him. The other day he called her phone to tell her something out of habit, and he cried for nearly twenty minutes when the robot-voice told him that the number was no longer in service. Some nights he loses sleep in favor of talking to one of his sisters, who are feeling this just as much as he is.

That’s not to say he’s not doing alright, though, he just has his moments.

“It shouldn’t be a race,” Louis says firmly, grabbing his keys from the counter before making his way to the door.

“Well, you’re Tomlinsons and you make everything competitive.” Harry says simply, shrugging. He stops Louis in the doorway for a slow kiss, one that they both pull away from smiling. “Good morning.”

“Morning.” Louis murmurs, kissing his cheek quickly. “I’m driving.”

Harry groans. He shuts the door behind them and Louis locks it so the keys don’t leave his hand and Harry doesn’t swipe them so he can drive. Harry doesn’t ask Louis the question Louis _knows_ he’s going to ask until they’re in the car and on the road. “Are you gonna be okay today?”

“Six month anniversary of my mother’s death, but yeah, I’ll be fine,” Louis sighs, rolling his window down halfway.

“At least the girls, like, _want_ to do this. Go visit her.”

“Yeah, I guess. I just don’t see the point entirely, but I’ll do it. To support them, to remember her.” Louis shrugs one shoulder. Harry reaches over and takes Louis’ left hand off the steering wheel, threading their fingers together and kissing his knuckles. “I’m supposed to have both hands on the wheel.”

Harry laughs. “Are you really that poor of a driver that you can’t let me hold your hand?”

“I’m a fucking fantastic driver, Styles.” Louis scoffs. “You can hold my hand, I’ll take the risk.”

Harry brushes his thumb over the rope tattoo on Louis’ wrist. Louis spares a glance at him, finding Harry’s staring hard at Louis’ hand. “Do you think, um. Do you think I could ever be, you know—”

“Tomlinson?” Louis fills in, pressing on the brake as they come to a stoplight.

“I swear you’re a mind reader.” Harry mutters. “But, uh, yes. That’s where I was going with it. Not now, obviously, or any time soon, seeing as we’re only six months back on this block. But it’s something I’ve thought about before, and in the spirit of being… open with you, you should know that. But no pressure.”

“I’ve thought about it too.” Louis admits. “At least we’re… on the same page?”

Harry laughs softly. “Yeah, I guess we are, aren’t we?”

They don’t bring it up again, don’t even really talk for the rest of the car ride, but Louis thinks that’s okay. They’re on the same page, but they’re in no rush to act on it, and that’s okay. Louis parks as close as he can to the path that leads to his mother’s final resting place and they walk hand-in-hand to the spot.

Louis’ siblings and Dan are already there, fresh flowers already laying in front of the headstone. Louis has to drop Harry’s hand to hug his sisters and say hello. “So, now what?” Phoebe asks, staring hard at their mother’s name on the piece of stone.

_Johannah Deakin. Loving daughter, wife, friend, and mother._

Louis exhales heavily. Harry puts an arm around his shoulder and pulls him in close, even though it’s a little too hot out to be so close together. “I dunno. We could say a prayer?”

The girls all shake their heads. “You just tell her you love her,” Dan says. Louis looks over at him, surprised (but also not really surprised) to see tears in Dan’s eyes. “If you believe that she’s here, than she’ll hear you, and that means more than any prayer any will.”

Louis nods in agreement. “I do think she’s here. And I agree, the best thing we can do is talk to her like she is. Talk _about_ her like she is.”

They don’t stay long, but do leave Lottie behind for a moment alone that she requests. On the way back to their car, Harry loops an arm around Louis’ waist and pulls them together again. “You really believe that she’s still around?”

“I have to. I think she would want me to. I didn’t have that weird epiphany on Christmas for nothing, I do think that she’s here, in everything I see and everything I do. She’s gone, but she’s not _gone,_ you know what I mean?” Louis asks. He slides his sunglasses onto his nose and digs the keys from his pocket. “Think we could get away this weekend?”

Harry laughs. “What? Where do you want to go?”

“I thought maybe we could just get in the car and drive. Windows down, radio up, find a shitty place to stay for the night before we drive again. My mum always wanted to do that with me, but with school and her job we never got to. Up for it?”

“Of course I’m up for it.” Harry says genuinely. Louis stops at the passenger side and, before opening the door for Harry, presses up and kisses him gently. “That feels inappropriate. Making out in a cemetery.”

“It wasn’t making out, it was one kiss. Besides, if my mum is here, she’ll just be happy to see us together.”

“She’d be happy to see you happy.” Harry murmurs, sounding like he’s just thinking out loud but to himself, like maybe Louis wasn’t supposed to hear that confession.

Louis squeezes his hip, smiling. “I think so, too. Just hope I’m making her proud. Got you back, so I think I’m off to a pretty decent start,” he says, attempting to keep it lighthearted. He nips Harry’s shoulder before he walks away.

“I’m being serious, Lou,” Harry sighs as they both slam their door shuts. “She’d be happy seeing you happy.”

Louis starts the car, smiling to himself. “Yeah, she would.”

When they get home, Louis starts researching places they can go this weekend while Harry makes them both sandwiches to eat for lunch. Harry brings the plates to the living room and sits down next to him. “Ooh, thank you,” Louis sings, taking the plate and taking a big bite out of his sandwich before setting the plate on Harry’s thigh. “Need both hands, doing important research over here.”

Harry laughs, taking a bite out of his own sandwich. “Where are we going?”

Louis shrugs, zooming out on the map. “Kinda just wanna drive, no destination in mind. Just looking for petrol stations and shit so we can be prepared. Looking for cool things along the way.”

“The petrol stations are cool?” Harry asks, leaning in closer to look at Louis’ laptop screen.

“You know that’s not what I meant.” Louis rolls his eyes and reaches for his sandwich. “But, sure, maybe they will be cool.”

“Everything’s gonna be cool. I’ll be with you.” Harry says softly. Louis turns his face, wanting Harry to kiss him, but Harry shakes his head. Louis gives him a funny look, and Harry gently taps the column of Louis’ throat, gesturing for him to swallow.

Louis rolls his eyes again. He makes a show of swallowing and then takes it upon himself to peck Harry on the lips. “You’ve had your mouth on my arse and you won’t kiss me while I’ve got sandwich in my mouth?”

Harry makes a face, bumping Louis’ shoulder. “Don’t say it like that, makes it sound… gross.”

Louis laughs. He finishes one half of the sandwich before putting the plate on the coffee table and shutting his laptop. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately, about my mum,” he says. “And I know I said I don’t really know, like, where she is and everything but when we went outside on Christmas… I felt the most alive I had in months. And she always wanted to travel, said that just the thought of it made _her_ feel more alive than anything. So I want to do more than drives up the coast. I want to travel, to all the places she talked about going to. And I want to write about them, put it all into some compilation of something and maybe even try to publish it, if it’s any good.”

Harry rubs Louis’ arm reassuringly, smiling at him. “That’s… that’s really great, Lou. I think you’d love it, and I think she’d love it too.”

“But I’d want, um, you to come with me.” Louis proposes. He’s started to avoid Harry’s eyes, like that will lessen the blow when Harry shoots him down. “And I know you have work and that you probably can’t take all that time off, I don’t even know if you’d _want_ to. Since we’re so freshly on this journey around the block, as we’ve been saying, and I don’t know if you want to. But I know I would like it if you came, at least some of the time.”

“God, Louis, you’re rambling. Trying to talk yourself off the edge when really you’re _nowhere_ near the edge. I would fucking love to come with you, Louis. If this is something you really, really want to do, I want to be there. For you and for her,” Louis catches him glance up at the ceiling, like he’s looking right up where Louis’ mother is sitting, watching all of this happen with a look of pride on her face.

Because that’s what Louis is convinced she’s feeling: pride. All he ever wanted to do is make his mum proud, and that hasn’t changed. Going on this crazy, continent-hopping adventure is something insane, something that will likely break Louis’ bank, but it’s something he feels like he _needs_ to do. It’s something he _wants_ to do. He’s been searching for ways to feel alive since his mother first got sick and he felt it for the first time on Christmas Day while he was standing in the snow rambling like a mad man, and he thinks that travelling will give him that feeling over and over again. The thought of doing something his mum always wanted to do but never got to do will hopefully bring her some peace, as well as himself. Having Harry there for the journey will only make it that more memorable, and make his mum that much more proud.

_i know we'll be alright child  
_ _just close your eyes, you'll see  
_ _i'll be by your side any time  
_ _you're needing me._   
**walking in the wind, one direction**   


 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! comments, kudos, etc are always appreciated! i will be posting another christmas fic closer to christmas time, this is just me procrastinating during finals week and also needing to let this story out of me where it's been held hostage. 
> 
> come yell at me on twitter: allgonnamakeit_   
> or on tumblr: alwaysbearound


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